Adventures Of The Blue Angel
by Renaud Roddecker
Summary: [Movie Sequel] Back from the Factory, Violet struggles to come back to a normal life, but her intense rivalry with the new bully in town and her encounter with a superhero will forever change the way she views the world.
1. Prologue: The Downfall

Wow, looks like this movie won't stop inspiring me ! I've already told some of you about this idea I had last summer, and now that I got some more time, I decided to do it at last. As I'm a fan of super-hero/vigilante stories, I decided to have one that has never been done before, a super-hero story set in the CACF universe and featuring Violet as the heroic avenger ! Tale of origins, training, struggles, a secret in the family, a conspiracy, an evil criminal leader, and also a crossover with one of my favorite Marvel characters. By the way, this story is set as a sequel of the movie and is not related with my other fic _Snakes Hate Chocolate_. Hope you enjoy.

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Things have gone wrong, terribly wrong. The Chocolate Room hasn't changed the slightest since I last came, a year and a half ago. It always looked so delicious. Except that now, I wasn't here for fun, I had a mission. And I failed. Now I'm standing there, on the bank of the Chocolate River, and already my vision is fading, my body is progressively going numb, as the dart stuck into my shoulder slowly poisons my blood with its Ketamine. Oh, my God, Ketamine is what you use to bring an elephant to sleep. Even if I'm so strong, I know I won't last long with my little fifty kilograms.

I fall on my knees, and drop my weapons. I want to sleep, but I struggle to stay awake. Things have gone wrong. I'm losing this battle. Of course, deep inside my heart of a 13-year-old girl, I've always expected this day to come. At the beginning, it was easy, almost like a game. It was exciting to lead this double life and face danger every day. But since I met the Devil and got myself into that super-hero business, I knew I would eventually come to lose a battle.

I thought I had several years before this day to come, but it came, only a year and a half later. Someone tried to kill me in Atlanta, and my investigation brought me here, back in the Factory that changed my life forever. That was just a vicious trap. I'm now lying down on my side, the chemical infiltrated into my blood system paralyzing me, letting me just enough energy to breathe and stay awake. Several pairs of feet in combat boots surround me, standing still, wrapped in their black uniforms and masks, holding rifles. These masked men were the soldiers that were expecting me. But they weren't men. They weren't human, no, they were something else.

A smaller soldier appears and stands in front of me. The others step back respectfully. This small soldier is their leader, the one that set up all this operation, the one that trapped me here. The soldier considers me.

"So you've decided to join the party," she says, for she has a girl's voice through the mask. "I'm glad to see you here, it's been a while... Angel."

That voice... it's a voice I know just too well. I gather my last strengths and look up at her face. Sneering, she takes her mask off. And I see the face I already knew.

"You..." I hiss, before I begin to feel much too weak. I just stop and rest my head on the soft sugar grass. I close my eyes, and as I fall asleep, I can still hear the girl's sneer echoing in my ears.

A dreadful laugh.

The Devil's laugh.

It all began a year and a half ago.


	2. Morning Ritual

I look in the mirror, and all I see is that damn blue color, again. Will this nightmare ever stop ? I really messed up into this Factory. I know, now, that I shouldn't have chewed that gum. But it's much too late for complaining. What is done is done. And you can't even imagine how much I hate myself.

My name is Violet Beauregard, and I'm blue. This is how we could sum up the story of my life. I'm blue from my head to my toes. My skin, my nails, my eyes, my hair, and even my tongue, have a pale blue color. Only my teeth are still white, and thanks God that's at least one thing left. Oh, no, I'm not radioactive or anything. It's not a genetic disease either. And no-one put a spell on me. This is just some kind of prize, a reward for my immense stupidity. Before I became blue, I was blond with green eyes. The adults used to say I was cute, the other kids just hated me. I guess you know what I mean. After all, you know me, I'm in your class. Yes, I am. Or if I'm not, then I am in your neighborhood, or I play in the same baseball ground as you, or maybe we even go to church together, but you, like everybody, have already met a girl like me: a ruthless kid who is better than you in any activity, who can beat you at any sport, no matter how hard you try. The kind of girl, who is all girly and sweety when adults are around, always willing to please them and show them how cute and polite she is, and as soon as they're not watching, who takes a sheer pleasure crushing you down like a cockroache and making your life a bitch. Well, that girl, it's me. Or, to be more precise, it's what I used to be.

Two weeks ago, I took part in a worldwide contest, perhaps the most prestigious of all contests. Of course, you know what I'm talking about, because you also tried to find a Golden Ticket. Who didn't ? These Golden Ticket, spread throughout the world, were your unique chance in your life to meet the world's most famous chocolatier, Willy Wonka, and there were only five. I was one of the five lucky kids. The rules of the contest stipulated that all the five of us had won a lifetime supply of chocolate, or every other candy we want, plus a tour inside the huge and mysterious Chocolate Factory, a tour guided by Willy Wonka himself. But only one of us would win a special prize, greater than anything we could ever imagine. I sincerely believed I would win that prize. After all, the four others were a tramp kid, Charlie Bucket, a German hog, Augustus Gloop, a British bitch of the haute bourgeoisie, Veruca Salt, and an arrogant know-it-all, Mike Teavee. Seriously, I thought they were no match for me, I was cute, intelligent, talented, and fearless. Gross mistake... so I went to England to visit this Factory. I can't say I didn't enjoy my time there, cause it was really, really great. Mr Wonka was a really amusing man, we were given wonderful never-tasted-before candy, we even had a boat ride on a chocolate river, which was crazier than all the rollercoasters of the world... and, wow, he even had a whole garden made entirely of sugar !

But how could I guess all of this was only a test ? Now that I think back about it, I tell myself that Wonka already knew I was stupid and stubborn, and he only showed me the truth: as a proof of courage, I chewed an experimental gum, I wanted to impress everyone. Of course, they were impressed when, as a side effect of that gum from Hell, I turned all blue, and swelled up to take the shape of a huge, fat, juicy blueberry. I was then put in a fruit juicer and squeezed back to my original shape - and I can tell you that now I know what it's like inside a mixer, these were surely the worst ten minutes of my life - but the blue color remained permanent. At first, it wasn't that disturbing. I mean, every kid dreams of having something really special, and I had a new skin color, I found it the coolest thing in the world ! My mother took me out of the Factory while I was enjoying a newfound flexibility, and I remember my first reflex was to approach the cameras, to show off. But my mother was quick to take me away, we had a hard time avoiding the journalists, but we eventually did. No-one but my mother, the kids, and Willy Wonka, ever saw what I had become. That's when I finally realized my life would never be the same, now that I was blue. The idea of coming back to school in that condition, and confront the kids I used to terrorize, and who would now laugh at me, struck me in the face and terrorized me.

Finally, Charlie won the Prize, the other children were taken out just like me, and we all went back home humiliated and furious. At least, I was not alone. Augustus had almost drowned in a chocolate tank, Veruca had fallen in a garbage chute (I remember the look in her eyes when she came out, she looked really like she wanted to kill someone), and Mike... I don't know what happened to him exactly, but when he came out, he was ten feet tall and thin as paper. I won't tell you how the flight was to bring us back to the United States, I'll just say it was epic, as I had to try everything I could to hide my face from as many people as possible. My mother was quite understanding about the situation. If I ever tried to go to school with that blue skin of mine, I wouldn't survive more than five minutes. You can try that in every public middle school: just put in a kid who looks slightly different from the others, and in less than five minutes, this kid becomes the new laughing-stock of the courtyard. Mom didn't want that for me. It's not the kind of situation that suits to a winner, you see. So we decided to give up the school's First Prize of Diligence, and for two weeks we tried absolutely everything for me to get my original color back. I had experimental cures, I met a lot of weird Asian healers, Mom even took me to that creepy deserted town called Silent Hill that is said to have magic power, but nothing worked.

Now, I'm still blue, the two weeks are passed, and I have to go back to school anyway. It's the morning, I just woke up, and I'm looking at myself in the mirror. I sigh, this day will be Hell, I know it already. I turn round, and grab my desk's chair to put it beside my bed, with a good meter separating them. Okay, I stand between them, jump, and land with one foot on the bed and the other on the chair, in a perfect saddle split Van Damme would be jealous of. That's the little compensation I had with the blue skin. I don't know how it happened exactly (I'm not as clever as Mike, you know), but when I got juiced, I became more flexible than I had ever been. At first it was quite hard to handle, but now I can move normally and yet perform great figures, such as this split, or saltos, triple cartwheels, and I could even turn my head 360 degrees if I wanted to... but I don't do that, it's much too freaky. I still haven't had the occasion to check if this flexibility has improved my karate, but I don't know if I really want to come back to the dojo.

The door of my room opens, and my mother enters. I come back to the ground and sit on the bed. She sits beside me, silently.

"How do you feel ?" she asks gently.

"Not bad... Mom, I don't wanna go to school."

"I know, sweetheart... but you've already missed two weeks, you know you can't afford to miss more."

"I know... but what will the others say ?"

"You're right... children are cruel."

"And I know a lot about it..."

"Don't blame yourself, Violet. It's not all your fault... come, let's have breakfast."

And we both get up and head for the kitchen. Mom is much nicer than she used to be. I think these two weeks we spent on the road, going from a healer to another, in a way brought us together more than before. Before, we were like a coach and her pupil. Now, we're becoming a mother and her daughter. Plus, having a common enemy is really helpful. After all, how could we not hate Willy Wonka for what he did to me ? At the beginning, Mom wanted to sue him, but I managed to convince her not to. Weird, isn't it ? Usually, I would've been the first to seek revenge, but I found out the only thing I wanted was a fair compensation. And I told Mom that the lifetime supply of chocolate was enough. Besides, attempting actions against Wonka means against Charlie too, now they're associates, and I have nothing against this boy. On the contrary, he's really nice to me, he wrote me a letter where he promised he would work on finding a cure.

We have breakfast silently, none of us daring to speak. I guess Mom has never been prepared to teach her daughter about how to deal with one's skin when it changed color, and I already feel bad enough. But there's one thing sure, the first who dares to laugh at me will have the sole of my shoe printed on his cheek. I'll never surrender without fighting. I finish eating, and get up to go to the bathroom. I begin to take off my pajamas and prepare for a shower when Mom enters, and quite surprisingly, she's hiding something behind her back and has a bright smile on her face.

"Mom, I'm gonna have a shower, here... Mom, are you okay ?"

"I just thought you might prefer to have a bath."

I look at her, puzzled.

"You see," she explains, "I thought I might give my dear little girl a present to encourage her through this difficult day..."

And then, she hands me the thing she was hiding in a theatrical manner, like if she was giving me a Christmas present.

"What the hell is that ?" I asked, more puzzled than before.

The gift is a solid black lead box, of about the size of a shoe box, with several different compartments, and bearing a red circular symbol I've already seen in movies... a biohazard symbol. She puts it on a shelf and goes to fill the bathtub with warm water.

"I received it two days ago," she says, "but I wanted to make it a surprise. It's a brand new cosmetic treatment I got right out of Japan. It's still at a prototype state, but I was assured this one would work... finally."

I say nothing as I watch her approaching the lead box, but I'm a bit worried at the idea of trying something that bears a biohazard mention. Oh, whatever, I'm fearless, after all, so no need to worry. But when I see her putting on latex gloves and a respirator before opening it, I really begin to panick.

"Mom, are you sure this is..."

I don't have time to finish, a violent hiss interrupts me as a compartment opens, letting out a plume of pressurized smoke, and Mom takes out a transparent glass that was inside. The glass is filled with a thick rosy liquid that doesn't make me confident. She holds it over the tub and just lets one drop fall in the water, which immediately turns pink.

"Mom, you're not expecting me to bathe in that, are you ?"

"Sure, I am. According to the notice, one drop in a normal bath will be enough."

She comes back to the box, and this time produces a small glass of yellow gel.

"And this is for the hair. Just put one drop in your shampoo. But be careful, do not swallow anything, it might be toxic for consumption. Don't worry, it's harmless for the skin, I was assured of that. Go on !"

She leaves me alone in the room. I have to say, I don't feel confident at all. That pink water is really not engaging. I undress and, reluctantly, enter the tub. Nothing happens. I mean, it doesn't burn my skin or anything. It just feels like normal water. I then proceed to bathe normally, and I wash my hair normally, using the yellow substance with the shampoo, just like Mommy told me to. At first, I don't notice any change. I finish, get out of the tub, pick up a towel, and dry myself. Then, I look in the mirror... and see it. My first reflex is to yell in surprise. My skin ! It's white ! And my hair is blond again ! My eyes are still blue, and when I open my mouth I see I'm still blue inside, and my nails are also blue, but now they seem like only details. My color's back ! I put a hand on my cheek and begin to rub my face, just to make sure, but the complexion doesn't wear off like make-up would. It's a real color.

"Mom !"

I put my pajamas back on and hurry out of the bathroom. I rush into the living, and as soon as I see my mom, I jump literally in her arms, overexcited.

"Oh, Mom, look ! Look, Mom, my skin ! It's back to normal !"

I think I'm ready to cry at this moment. Mom just hugs me back and whispers:

"It's wonderful, sweetheart. I knew we'd finally find a way..."

"Wait," I suddenly exclaim, remembering a little problem, "what about my nails, and mouth, and my eyes ?"

"I know... bring the box here, I'll show you."

I think I've never run so fast before, as I fetch the box from the bathroom. Patiently and almost ceremoniously, she produces a small jar of red liquid, and a pink nail polish. She hands me the red jar:

"This is to be used like a mouthwash. Just keep it in your mouth for a few seconds, and spit it out."

The medicine has a terribly bitter taste, but I obey anyway, while she paints my nails. The only last detail she shows me, is a pair of green contacts. Once I put them on, I look at myself again, in the mirror. I haven't seen the girl facing me in over two weeks, and it seemed so long ! I don't say anything, for I think there is no word to describe my true feelings - how would you feel, yourself, if your blue skin suddenly came back to normal - so instead, I just give my Mom the biggest hug ever. I love her.

"Welcome back, Violet," she just whispers as she hugs me in return.

For the next few minutes we just look at each others, we can't find anything to say.

"You'd better get yourself ready," she finally advises, "or you'll be late for school."

This strikes me. I had completely forgot ! I rush to prepare my bag, and when I come back to the kitchen to take my lunch, Mom catches me:

"By the way, I forgot to give you some safety advices: your color looks very realistic, but in the end, it's only make-up."

"What ?"

"I know, you were hoping for something better, but that's the best I could find. It's meant to last two or three days at its best."

"But after, I... I'm gonna be blue again ?"

"Well, after we'll just have to do it again. Don't worry, sweetheart, I can get as much of this as I want, it costs me nothing cause we are test customers."

"Then it's still some kind of prototype ? Is it dangerous or something ?"

"Not at all. The only flaw with it, and that's why I absolutely wanted to warn you before you go, is that it wears off when in contact with water. When dry, you can rub your skin as strong as you want, it won't move. It's just... the water."

"So I can't swim anymore ?"

"I'm afraid not."

Suddenly, I don't feel that much happy. I knew it couldn't be so much perfect.

"That's okay," I sigh. "At least, my friends won't see me in blue, that's the most important. And maybe Charlie will find something."

"I'm glad you take it this way." She gives me a kiss. "I love you, Violet. Have a good day."

I take my coat and go out. It's a beautiful day. Sure it's cold, we're in February, but the sky is clear blue and the sun comes to beautifully illuminate the thick layer of snow on the sidewalk. I like winter. I take a deep breath of cold, fresh air, and quicken up my walk. The school is not so far, and I like walking. Before the Tour, when I was involved in all those competitions, the walks to and from school were about the only times of the day when I had a little time to think. And I do need to think, right now. I wonder how the others will react ? Not that I have a lot of friends... okay, actually, Cornelia is my only true friend. All the others hate me, I know it, but they never say so. They just bow down before me. For you see, I'm kind of the queen of the courtyard, I've been so since I broke the nose of an eighth-grader last year. Now, they're all afraid of me, and I kinda like it. Respect. Wherever I go, people respect me. When I need money, I get money. When I'm thirsty, I get a drink. When I'm tired, I get my homework done. I hear you. You just called me a bully. Maybe, though I don't like this word. You know, I think it's understandable. When you have so much pressure from competitions, it's normal to relieve some stress on others.

I leave the residential outskirts and arrive at the level of the first buildings. A suburb. Not as rich as my neighborhood, but it's not Harlem, if you see what I mean. It's a pretty safe place, only it just looks like it remained stuck in 1969. I pass through that district everytime I go to school, and I know it almost by heart. I know exactly how long it takes me to cross it, and I know exactly who in my school lives here, and I know exactly when they leave their houses. Oh, by the way ! I take a look at my watch, and I read 7:47. Harold !

I quickly run out of the main street to hide in a narrow alley. I almost forgot my Monday morning ritual ! I wait a few seconds, and I hear footsteps. Good, it hasn't changed ! The boy walking on the sidewalk passes beside my alley. I whistle at him, and he stops.

"Not again..." he murmurs, and I guess some nervousness in his voice. That's delightful. Harold is a nerdish skinny kid who goes to my school. He's a sweet guy, cause every Monday morning, he has a gift for me.

He obeys and comes to rejoin me in the alley. He knows it's gonna be worse if he tries to flee.

"How's it going, Violet ?"

He is afraid. I can feel it. What ? What's the matter ? Has he seen my blue skin ? No, wait. Impossible. Think, Violet ! I had a treatment, I'm not a Smurf anymore. Well, at least, until my next shower. I just have to avoid water, and everything's gonna be alright. Harold has always been afraid of me, I remember now. And he has reasons to be afraid.

"Just hope you enjoyed those few weeks without me," I sneer. "But now, let's go back to our old habits, shall we ?"

"I don't think so."

Four words he quickly regrets, when the next second, he's pinned against the wall, with my foot pushing painfully on his chest. I can't stand arrogance.

"What did you say ?"

"No, wait ! It's not what I meant, I..."

"Quick ! I give you five seconds, or I kick your butt."

"No, okay, just listen. It's just that... lots of things have changed while you were gone. It's not the same, now."

I release him, and he kneels down in pain.

"Oh, really ? Well, _I _don't think so. Remember who I am. I'm Violet Beauregard. I'm the best, I'm a winner, and no-one can overcome me. I thought you knew it. Now, give me what you have."

He hardly hands me a five dollar buck.

"That's all I have."

"Well that's gonna be okay for now. Consider that the queen is back."

I begin to walk away, letting him nurse his chest, when I hear his words, his words that somehow chill out my temper, and almost make me worry:

"That's it, Violet. But you're not the queen anymore. You better accept it now."

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You guess there's a rivalry coming, and Violet will have to prove she's back for good ! This the first chapter, so far. I have the overall idea of how the story will unfold, I just need time to write, with the other fic waiting... but I will update anyway, for I'm in such a writing frenzy now, I write day and night ! Even if it's only the introduction chapter, first impressions will be most welcome.

PS: for those seeking romance, I'm sorry to say I want to be neutral in this domain, so this story will be pairingless. Just read it like a comic !


	3. The Lost Throne

**Just A Note** before the chapter begins: this chapter being about a bully fight, you guess there will be some mild violence, but there are also some... quirky elements. So, before someone gets upset while reading, I'd like to certify that nobody got chili-bowled during the writing of this chapter. Thank you.

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Contrary to what I dreaded, the morning passed well. Everyone was trying to avoid me, as usual, and only Cornelia was here to welcome me. My only friend. She had to help me all the morning because with the two weeks I've skipped, I was totally lost. Now, it's lunch-time, at last, and we're both in the indoor dining hall, trying to get a table. Just for the two of us. I know very well that nobody will sit at my table. As for Connie... well, rich kids are not extremely popular in this school.

As usual, I walk to a table in a corner, beside the windows. The other kids know it's my favorite table, and usually avoid to sit there. As I arrive, I notice that one of them didn't get it.

"Hey !" I say to the boy sitting at my place. "Get outta here, that's my table !"

"No, it's mine," he replies. "I was here first."

What ? I can't believe what I just heard. He's a rather frail kid, no match for me. And he just... I think I found a candidate for a swirlie !

"Hey, pinhead ! I'm Violet Beauregard, and I order you to get outta my way, now !"

He doesn't answer and keeps eating his lunch. I can't believe it, I don't scare him ! I don't scare that small skinny boy ! What is going wrong with me ? Since I met Harold in the alley, I found that... I don't scare anyone anymore. What has changed when I was gone ? Did they discover that my skin is blue ? Did they see a picture on TV or something, and now I'm the whole school's laughing stock ? Oh, God, now _I'm _afraid !

"Don't insist," Connie tells me, "we'll just find another table."

I don't listen to her and put my lunch on this table, then I stand in front of that cocky boy threateningly.

"Okay, I gave you a chance. What do you prefer ? Indian burn, or titty twister ?"

"Listen, I know who you are, Violet, but it just doesn't work. You can threaten me, or anyone else, it won't work. It's over, you're not the queen anymore."

That phrase, again. I sneer.

"Oh, yeah, and who decided that ? You ?"

"No, there's someone else. Someone better than you."

I'm about to make that kid eat his lunch by the ears when Connie finally convinces me to give it up. I don't want to throw a scandal on my first day back, so I agree. We go to sit at one of the few tables available, the one that's near the trash can. Before, only the nerds deserved that table. Something's changed, and I don't like that.

"At least," she says, "you haven't lost your temper !"

Connie always sees the good things in life, and if we were not friend, her cheerfulness would even take all desire of bullying away from me. In this way, we're total opposites: I'm the ultra-aggressive sportsgirl who wants to take on everyone, she's the one in a cute skirt who's always as smily and cheery as a Japanese cartoon. Strange mix, isn't it ? Well we've been friends since our early childhood. Mom told me it was because our fathers used to be great friends. I don't remember. I was too young when my father died, I don't even know what happened.

"You could explain me something," I say as I open my lunch bag, "why is everyone acting like that ? They're all telling me things have changed and all... I feel like Superman when he comes back to Earth to discover Lois is married."

She immediately bursts in laughter. "Sorry," she says, "but your comparison is kinda funny."

She struggles a moment to get serious again, then she continues: "Well, I'm sorry to tell you that, Violet, but... they're right. You used to be the biggest bully in the neighborhood, but now it's over."

"Then who is it ? Who's that new terror ?"

"A guy in the near high school. He just arrived from Canada... I think he arrived about two days after you left. He's sixteen, and trust me he's very strong. He terrorizes all the kids around, and we know him as Red Devil."

"Red Devil ? Cheesy to death ! What has he got that is so special, except a dumb nickname ?"

"Well, your greatest exploit was when you broke the nose of Patrick Hockstetter, right ?"

"Right."

"Well, he... I don't even dare talk about it, it's so gory... we heard he was particularily found of the Texas Chili Bowl."

I frown. "What the Hell is a Texas Chili Bowl ?"

Her eyes grow wider. Whatever it is, it scares her even to think of it. "You... don't know what is... well it's something I've never seen you doing, luckily. It's... God, how to explain... well just figure it out: it's something that involves tabasco sauce, a phone, and an anus."

I look at her in the eyes, for a few seconds, and I see she's not joking.

"Gross !"

"Yeah, I know... let's talk about something else ! Tell me everything about your Factory Tour !"

"Oh, well, it was not that bad."

"Not that bad, that's all ? Come on, I'm sure it was wonderful !"

Like all the kids in town, we had been in an intense competition, Connie and me, for one of those Golden Tickets. I still think it's a miracle that I found it before her.

"Well, you know, I didn't win... you're not eating ?"

I suddenly notice that. She didn't even take out her lunch.

"Oh, yes, for sure, I..." she throws worried looks around. "I... yeah, I got to eat..." she looks around again, and I decide not to speak for now. Then, she sighs: "Show must go on..."

Then, she blushes and produces a shiny metallic box with the inscription _P.C.E. _carved on it. Doubtful, I smile as I watch her open it, which she does by pushing a button on the side, and the box opens with a high-pitched pressure whistle that makes everyone in the hall look at us. I guess that's the exact effect she wanted to avoid, to have everyone look at her and her... and her...

"What's that," I ask, "a lunchbox ?"

"Uh, yeah. A new idea of my father. It can keep my food at the exact temperature I want for over a week, but it is... zero discretion."

Alan Prinzmetal. A scientist, a genius in robotics and cybernetic technology, and the wealthy president of Prinzmetal Cybernetic Engineering. This is Cornelia's father. When a new crazy gadget appears around, you can always be sure it's Mr Prinzmetal who made it. That's why she's not much appreciated, here: a rich heiress, another Veruca Salt, in a public middle school, you get to notice quickly. Wait, why am I comparing her with Veruca Salt ? They're both rich, but in terms of character, they're total opposites ! And why am I thinking of Veruca Salt in the first place ? I hate that... that... that bitch ! I still remember when she suggested I should attend a county fair, and I couldn't hit her because I was one big, blueberry ! She laughed at me, and I could do nothing against that. I hate her. Here, I'd gladly give her one of those Chili Bowls !

"Would you pass me the _Salt_, please ?"

Dammit, she said it ! Why did she say it ?

"Uh, Violet ? You're bending your fork, are you okay ?"

I try hardly to calm down, and I release the fork that is now dead. Poor fork. I see I squeezed so hard that the palm of my hand has taken a bright red color. Quite a good thing: I didn't damage the make-up, and it proved that, even though my skin is blue, I'm still normal inside.

"That's nothing, Veruca," I say. "Nothing, I was just..."

"How did you just call me ?"

"What ?"

"You called me Veruca. Like Veruca Salt, the ticket-winner ?"

I want to bang my head on the table to make every thought of her go away. I'm twelve, and at this age, it's amazing how much you can hate someone for almost nothing - for a devilish smile, for a sneer, for a bad retort - and I especially hate her "Daddy I want" style. Even when I close my eyes, I can see her again ! I need to exorcise this demon.

"You wanna know what Veruca Salt is like ? Imagine Paris Hilton when she was a child..."

And I tell her everything, absolutely everything I think about Veruca, and of course I don't hesitate to exaggerate things. After a while, she looks at me with bulging eyes and her mouth agap. Yes, you got to see to believe. As we have our lunch, the conversation switches to the Factory, and I tell her what I did and saw, without mentioning, of course, the tragic blueberry incident. Officially, I got an acute stomach ache after I tried the prototype gum, and I had to leave for safety. Then, as the bell rings, we begin to gather our things to go back to class, and at this point I can't hold it back any longer:

"Where to meet him ?"

She looks at me curiously. "Who ?"

"Red Devil. Where can I meet this guy ?"

"Wait a minute, I know what you're thinking... you don't seriously consider taking him in a fight ?"

I don't answer, because she already knows the answer.

"Oh, no !" she yells. "No, Violet, no !"

"I gotta do it, Connie. I don't have any influence anymore, everyone is afraid of that... Devil guy. I can't stay back and watch him take my place."

"Yeah, so instead he's gonna kill you ! Listen, I know you enjoy scaring people and all that, and even if I always found it weird, I let you do, but... this time, it's game over, I mean, you haven't seen that guy, it's suicide, and all that for a reputation of Number One Bully. Is it worth ?"

"It is, what will I look like if I let this guy take over ? People will think I'm a coward !"

"Then why don't you just try to live like a normal schoolgirl, for a change ? You could... I don't know, join the basket-ball club, for example. I remember you can leap pretty high, basket-ball could do you a lot of good."

"Connie, you really see me smile and say hi at everyone, look silly and giggle for nothing, like Randa Chellini ? No, I'm not your average schoolchick. I'm Violet Beauregard, and I'm not afraid of anything. And I have a throne to take back."

I might sound like I haven't learned anything in the Factory. Well, I learned not to show off when I'm almost sure the odds are against me. Like, for example, when I'm in front of an experimental candy. Here, we're talking about a fight, and I've won many fights against other wannabe kingpins before, and I can do it again. I'm not afraid of anything... I try hard not to think of what happened the last time I said this phrase.

"Okay," she admits, "he mobs virtually half of the kids in the neighborhood. He doesn't hold a list or anything, just strikes at random. You know, with his bike he moves a lot, so he always finds a victim. Most of the time, he can be found with his friends in the park where we usually hang out to play soccer. And one more thing: you didn't lose your reputation just because he appeared. He was told about you. And he just said he was waiting and you wouldn't regret it. So now, do as you please. But don't count on me to watch when the doctors will have to extract a phone out of your ass."

----------

Five o'clock, class is over. I've been waiting for this moment the whole day. School has never really kept me interested, though I had to force myself for Mom, but today, with all the courses I've missed, it's like I've landed in another dimension. In history, I've instantly switched from Medieval Europe to the World War, without a clue of what happened in the meantime. In literature, we're talking about a book everyone has read already, and I haven't even bought it. Well, this fact is not that disturbing. I mean, the book is _Bridge To Terabithia_, everyone knows what it talks about.

Now, we're out, and dusk is setting already. Cornelia is accompanying me to the park. She says she only does that out of morbid curiosity, and because there must be someone to gather my remains. Usually, there are lots of children skating on the paved tracks or playing soccer on the green grass, but tonight, there's almost no-one. Well, the green grass is snow-white and the paved tracks are iced, I guess it doesn't attract a lot of people. We stop, and Cornelia shows me a place, ahead of us, where the earth is elevated a little, forming a kind of small hill. Usually, it's the favorite place for skaters to take some speed. I tried it myself, that's load of fun. From here I can distinguish a few trees, a few benches, and a group of young people chatting loudly, on top of that hill.

"It's here," she said. "These are his clique. They must know where he is."

"Okay, I don't wanna get you into trouble, so just stay here."

"Wait, Violet. You don't have to do that, you know."

"Connie, once upon a time, there's a people that grew tired of fighting, and in the end they decided it was useless and they surrendered. You know what that people is ? The French. Are you French, Cornelia ?"

"Certainly not !"

"Me neither, and I got to prove it."

I leave her here before she speaks again. I know it's a pretty lame argument, but it's the only thing that came to my mind. I hurriedly follow the track and rejoin the group of teenagers. They're all about fifteen or sixteen, high-schoolers, all of them. First thing I notice is that they're not really a clique, for I see skaters, goths, rockers, even a nerd or two, boys and girls. They just look like normal, harmless teens who hang out after class, but I also notice there's a good number, perhaps a dozen, of boys with messy hair, curly goatees, and pleather clothes. These ones look like a gang of wannabe Hell's Angels. God, don't tell me this Devil guy has henchmen ?

"Hey, guys !" I say. Maybe I don't sound that confident, maybe I'm not that convincing, for they all look at me with mocking smiles on their faces. I've got to say I begin to ask myself questions. After all, even if I know karate, they're all a good thirty centimeters taller than me, and they are many. Was it a mistake to come here ?

"Hi, midget !" a punk girl says. "How're ya doing ?"

"Who's the one of you everyone calls Red Devil ?"

Loud laughters. I think I sounded too dramatic, like if I was acting in a Western. Or they must think I'm totally dumb asking for Devil, knowing his reputation.

"Why do you want to see him ?"

"Got to pay him ?"

"Got a favor to ask ?"

"Careful, kid, when you have a pact with the Devil, it lasts forever !"

"No, I just wanna talk to him."

"You can still step back now, girl, or it will be too late ! You should know that when a kid talks to the Devil, he loses his money. And his pride."

"He won't take my money, cause I'm ready to fight."

They suddenly fall silent, even a little embarrassed. One of the pleather boys steps in front.

"You're Violet Beauregard, I suppose. We were told about you. Here's what the Devil has to say: this is not your domain anymore. You used to be the Boss, but now you're surpassed. Get away now, or prepare for war. You choose."

I gotta say his words give me a shiver. Or is it the cold air of February ? I don't know, but I gather my courage and I sneer:

"Are you the Devil ? You shouldn't talk about yourself at the third person, it sounds lame."

"Me ? No, I'm just a friend, nothing more. _Here_ is the Devil."

And suddenly, a blinding yellow light appears on my right and surrounds me, as a roar stronger than three tigers tears off my ears. I startle, trip and fall under the surprise, but I quickly stand up. The roar was not that of a tiger, but of a dark red motorcycle which is now facing me. It looks like it has appeared out of nowhere. I put my hand in front of my face to protect my eyes against its blinding light and try to distinguish the rider.

"You asked for me ?" he says, and he's speaking with a weird accent that makes me chuckle briefly. He finally cuts down the engine and gets out. The light disappears, I can see clearly. I start to think I really, really made a mistake coming here, for the guy is, I should say, rather impressive. Pretty tall, muscular, broad shoulders, he's dressed in a full tight-fitting leather motorcycle suit, complete with gloves and boots. Dark red, just like his bike, and worn so tight that it squeaks at every move. He also has a dark red full helmet on his head, I can't see his face. And on the left side of his chest, I can read the initials RD sewed on the jacket in a stylized fashion. RD stands for Red Devil, of course. And he does look like a Devil.

"Uh, nice bike," I say. "Kawasaki Ninja... pretty cool."

"Thanks, but we're not here _pour jaser _about bicycles, right ?"

Oh my God, this accent ! I just wanna laugh, but I'm afraid of offending him.

"So you're Violet Beauregard, the famous Big Boss of the neighborhood. Glad to meet you. I'm Terrance Phillips, and before you ask, yes, I'm from South Canada, and yes I have a funny accent, but I'm proud of it, _tabernac _!"

"Uh... okay."

I'm not as confident as I used to be. On the contrary. That guy's really intimidating, even with this ridiculous accent.

"Good," he continues. "We're not gonna _épivarder _endlessly, cause I know what you're here for: I took your place, and now _t'as les miquettes_."

"What ?"

"I said, you're really pissed."

"Oh... well, yes."

"How much do you have ?"

"What ?"

"Money. How much ?"

"Five dollars."

"Okay, here's how it works: we're gonna have a fight, I'll _câlisse _you, and you become like the others, you give me your money. Or, you beat me and I recognize you're still the Number One, but that is not likely to happen."

"We'll see !" I roar as I stand on guard, trying to show off more confidence than I actually have. "Let's make it short !"

"If you wish."

"Perhaps you should take that helmet off."

"What for ? You'll never have time to touch it anyway."

This time, I'm gonna shut up his cocky mouth ! Without waiting no more, I jump on him in a strong karate high kick. He's not even on guard, I know I'll hit him, right in the chest. Only, things don't happen as planned. When I reach my target, he's already gone and my foot just kicks in the air. Right after, it feels like a power drill digging in my guts when he punches me in the stomach, and I bend down, breathless. His second punch, in the temple this time, feels like falling on a rock head-on. I feel all numb, but I think I'm flying, for a short while that seems to last several minutes, before I fall heavily in the snow. My belly is on fire, and all the people are twirling and spinning around me, I can't even distinguish faces. They speak, or laugh, but their voices sound like they're coming from miles away. I can hardly move a finger. That's very hard for me to accept that, but the fact is here: for the first time in her life, Violet Beauregard was knocked out.

Terrance stands over me and looks at me, through the red screen I can't even see his eyes. I'm beginning to wake up, and I hear him clearly:

"As you wished, we made it short. Now, pay-day !"

And then I feel arms around me, the pleather boys grab me and lift me up. I'm not strong enough to break free. I'm totally defenseless, and it reminds me of the Oompa Loompas who rolled me through the Factory to juice me, and for the first time I knew what it was like to be helpless. God I hate that ! I feel hands going into my pockets and searching. It tickles, it's very unpleasant. I hate being touched. But I'm too groggy to react. One of the boys eventually finds the money. The five dollars I took from Harold this morning, plus my own pocket money.

"_Taboire_," the Canadian exclaims, "twelve dollars ! Violet, you told me lies, that's not fair. And you know what we do, in Canada, to those who don't play fair ?"

The others begin to laugh. Only the pleather boys are active, those who hold me and search me. The other teens are just watching. So these pseudo-bikers are definitely his henchboys. Anguish is twisting my guts. I pray not to hear those three words I'm expecting...

"Texas Chili Bowl !"

I scream in terror as soon as I hear it. No, this can't happen ! This must be a nightmare ! That's it, I'll wake up soon ! But no, this is reality, I must accept that. Cornelia will be of no help, so I'm alone with them, and for the first time in my life, I'm gonna get bullied. This is not a nightmare, cause a nightmare can't be worse. I see a goth girl throw her cell phone at the Devil, and he catches it like a baseball ball. No ! No, this is not true, this is a joke ! The Devil approaches me with the phone in his hand. I do something I never thought I'd do: I beg for my life.

"Please ! Please, don't ! No ! Please, I'll do what you want, I'll do anything but that ! Please !"

_Nooooooooooooooo !_

The scream is so loud it echoes through the park, and I even begin to cry. Only to hear them laugh even louder.

"Come on, Violet !" Terrance exclaims, hardly capable to speak for he laughs so much, "you really thought I'd do it to you ? Na, I'll never be such an asshole - no pun intended - as to give such a nasty treatment to a _pooooor _little child."

I hate the way he stresses on the word _poor_. I should feel relieved, but I'm not. I never felt so humiliated in my whole life. The blueberry incident is nothing in comparison. I look down and keep crying silently. I don't say a word. I'm not the Number One. I don't even deserve to be Number Two. I'm merely their toy.

"Instead, you'll have a Polish ride !"

I don't even have time to wonder what the Hell is a Polish ride, they're already dragging me to the nearest trash can... and they throw me in. I come back to reality in contact with greasy papers, a sticky substance I don't even want to know what it is, and most of all a terrible smell. I struggle to get out, but the boys lift the can and put in a horizontal position. Oh, no ! Here it comes, just what I thought: they throw it on the track and let it roll all the way down the hill. Inside, it's... it's like being in a mixer full of shit. Each shock against the pavement brings an acute pain on my back or my knees. And the worst is the garbage, flying around me and falling back on my, on my hair, hands, even my face. I'm covered with filth. And finally, the crazy ride stops... when the can smashes on a street light, making my head bang on the steel. I begin to crawl out. I can barely move. I'm a painful wreck, dirty and miserable. I can hear them laugh, far away. The ride has taken me on the sidewalk, all the way out of the park. I try to stand.

"The landing was a little too heavy, but the rest sounded like a good ride."

I turn to face the man talking to me. Standing before me, he's maybe twenty, an athletic figure, with messy blond hair and a strange composure, he's not looking at me but at a vague spot over my head. When I see his dark red sunglasses and his red cane, I understand the man is blind. He smiles.

"When I was told Atlanta was a sweet city, I hope they weren't talking about the perfume, cause it smells rather sour."

I don't mention it. His words sound rather cynical, but he looks like a nice guy after all. I like him. I try to smile, even if it's quite useless in front of him. I ask:

"May I help you, Sir ?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For those who wish to know more about the Texas Chili Bowl, I invite them to watch the South Park episode _Pre-School _while waiting for the next chapter.

Cheers!


	4. The House On The Right

The blind man steps closer and gently taps on the trash can with the tip of his cane. He then considers me, well at least he looks like, turns his head to look briefly in the direction of the park, where Devil and his gang are still on top of their hill, watching, and says:

"A trash can, hey ? I can hear people laugh... quite nastily. Do you have any problem, young lady ?"

"Oh, no, not at all, we were just... having fun, you know."

"You don't sound good. Young lady, if there are people picking on you, you can tell me."

Certainly not ! I don't need a bodyguard ! Although... I don't feel comfortable, knowing that the gang is still over there, watching. On their hill, they look like they had their fun for the night and won't come after me, but I appreciate this man's company, just in case. Oh, look at me, I came to fight confident like Clint Eastwood, and now here I am, looking up at the blind man for protection. So pathetic. I force myself not to cry again, because if I did, it would take away the last remains of my pride.

"No, Sir, we were just... playing Jackass."

He doesn't believe me, I can feel that. He must have heard the pain in my voice or something... I heard that blind people are much more sensitive. I know what I must sound like to him, but I don't want to think about it. At least, he's not someone I know.

"Anyway," he says, finally giving up, "I was looking for a grocery store. I just arrived in town, and I don't know the place at all."

"Oh, sure." I'm pleased I can think of something else and I try to forget the pain and show my best side. "Well, it's easy, you see..."

"Sure I do."

"Well, I mean... okay, you just go on ahead, for about three hundred meters, and it'll be on your left. You'll find it ?"

"I think I will, I'll just keep my eyes open. You're sure you're okay ?"

"Yes, I am, don't worry. Good bye, Sir."

I watch him go, kinda relieved that I have not lost my face in front of him. But that doesn't change much for my state of mind. I pass my hand in my hair, and my fingers meet with the flabby texture of a banana skin. Dang ! I don't wanna know what else there was in that can ! I wait till I think he's out of ear range, and I release my anger on the innocent trash can that didn't ask for such a treatment. The others, on the hill, are gone too. I'm alone in the street, and I do intend to make good use of the situation to express myself freely, which means punching that can and screaming in the wild.

"I got beaten and disgraced by a Canadian son of a whore, and I'm FLIPPIN' PISSED !"

"Violet ?"

I stop and try to calm down. It's Cornelia.

"Violet, are you okay ?"

"Do I look ?"

"No... I guess not. I... I'm sorry about that. I wanted to help, but..."

But she couldn't, I know. What could she do, alone against them ? She's not a girl of action.

"Don't worry, Connie, you don't need to be sorry. It's me, I..."

That's the first time in my life I say that:

"I should have listened to you."

"Oh... but, you feel alright, I mean... you wanna talk about it ?"

I smile, sincerely. "Thanks, but I just wanna go home and have a good bath."

"Good idea... I don't wanna offend you, but you stink. And you're not so pretty, what's that ?"

"What ?"

She grimaces in disgust. "That's weird, you got something blue on your face..."

Uh-oh... there must have been some water into the can. Or maybe is it because I hit the snow or cried, but the make-up is fading away. I pretend to rub my face and say it must be some ink.

"Okay... you want me to take you home ?"

"No, it's okay, I'm going there myself. It's late, your father will be worried."

Actually, it's already very dark. Winter... we wish good night and go on our own ways. The pain is already almost gone, it must be thanks to my super-flexibility. However, I'm now cold, and still dirty. And still deeply angry and desperate. I walk home, and on my way, I pass beside a bus stop. There are a few people waiting, not paying attention to me. I feel an outburst of rage, and I kick the stop pole as hard as I can. Already, a middle-aged woman looks at me and looks like she's about to reprimand me, but she hesitates when she sees my face. Of course, covered with garbage and with half of my face paint gone, I must look like a freak. That's it, look at me, I'm a freak ! Booh ! I'm the trash can monster ! I used to be a little girl, but I was turned into a monster by a boy who was stronger than me ! Oh my God, what is happening to me ? I begin to run, faster and faster, I want to escape from my thoughts, but I can't. The tears come back. What's going on ? Wasn't the blueberry incident fair enough a punishment for all those years I kept bullying and belittling others ? Was it really necessary to make me fall from my throne in such a manner ? God, You must be having your fun, but You're torturing me ! Thinking that the day had begun so well... I should have known my joy from the morning wasn't meant to last.

I arrive home. I'm freezing. I go in, and the warmth inside already makes me feel a little better. That, plus a delicious smell of apple pie coming from the kitchen...

"Violet !"

Mom looks at me, visibly in shock. She comes to give me a hug, but somehow, she hesitates... must be the "perfume".

"Oh, my poor... what happened to you ?"

"Nothing, I just... I just had an accident."

That's a chance I had time to calm down on the way. I don't want to cry in front of my Mom.

"An accident ? But how... are you okay ?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'll just have a bath."

She doesn't insist. Maybe she believes me, or maybe she doesn't dare. I don't know. It's still quite new to me to consider her a mother and not a coach.

"Oh, by the way, put your make-up back on after your bath."

"Why, we're going out, tonight ?"

She gives me her special Colgate smile. "Haven't you noticed ? We have a new neighbor ! He just moved in the house on the right this morning."

"Oh, and that's what the apple pie is for ?"

"Yes. Go on quick !"

Uh-oh... a new neighbor... The house on our right is vacant most of the time, and there's a reason to it. Mom is terrible with new neighbors. She always wants to appear so nice and friendly that she ends up looking like a movie caricature of the perfect neighbor, and she progressively wears out their patience and their mental stability. I remember the last two neighbors we had in the house on the right. When I was eight, it was a divorced mother with her son who was about my age... they became quite good friends, but I couldn't stand her son who had kind of a bizarre obsession with me. To please Mom, I tried to pretend to be friend with him, but when he tried to get me to play doctor, I wedgied him so bad that he had to go to the hospital... they moved out a few days after. The last one was a while later, I was ten, I think. He was a nice, successful businessman, and a single... Mom was very friendly, and tried to court him so heavily that it went wrong: I heard that in the end, the man thought she was harassing him, and grew afraid of her, to a point that he had barricaded his windows and doors, and refused to go out. He spent some time in an institution and finally decided to leave the city. Of course, all these things I'm not supposed to know, but I know my Mom better than she thinks. I saw her trying to date several men, before, and she always has something in her smile and in her attitude that makes them run away scared. I don't know what is exactly wrong, cause I always knew her to be like that, but once she grew interested in my history teacher, and for about a week, he came to school under police protection. Actually, the only man I know who can approach my Mom without fear is Mr Prinzmetal, because they're very close friends, and I guess it's better this way. I don't need a father.

The hot water feels so good it has me totally relaxed. I almost already forget what happened in the park. I make sure my make-up is well put on - it looks even more natural than in the morning, I love the Japanese ! - and finish to prepare myself. Oh, it feels so great to feel my hair soft and dry, without any banana skin or other sticky thing, and to have that foul smell gone ! I put on some clean clothes and rejoin Mom in the kitchen. She's taking the pie out of the oven and wrapping it in a white cloth.

"Are you ready ?"

"Yep."

Here we go. I already feel sorry for the new victim. I know the reputation. People around say The House On The Right as if they were naming the title of a horror movie. Our house is at the end of the block, so we have the great chance not to have a house on our left. That would have been twice more victims.

"How is he like ?" I ask.

"Well I only saw him briefly this morning, when he came with the movers. He's in his twenties, I guess, pretty cute, and he apparently lives alone..."

"Don't try, Mom, he's too young for you and too old for me."

"What ?"

She's really surprised at my retort, but we don't have time to discuss it as we're already in front of his door. She knocks, and produces her brightest smile. I hate when she smiles like that, cause it scares people more than it pleases them. The new victim opens the door... and I have the surprise of the century: blond hair, red glasses, it's the blind guy from the park !

"Hello !" Mom begins cheerfully. "We are your new neighbors !"

The guy smiles at us and invites us in. His living room contains the strict necessary, a couch, two armchairs and a coffee table, the rest is all still packed in the piles of cardboard boxes against the walls. Kind of lacks decoration, but, well, it's not as if he could really enjoy the sight.

"Have a sit," he invites. "Do you want to drink something ? I have ice-tea and... I think that's all I have."

"That will be very nice, thank you."

"By the way..." he smells. "Is that an apple pie ?"

"Yes."

"That is very kind of you. I'm coming... err... right back."

And he disappears into the kitchen as we sit on the couch. He's a little nervous, I noticed. Must not be used to have guests.

"He looks nice," Mom tells me. "A little nervous, but nice."

"Yeah."

"It just looks rude of him to keep his sunglasses indoor. What's the need for sunglasses in February, anyway ?"

Oh, no ! I hold back a chuckle at the last second. She didn't notice ! Okay, I know she's a little... dense, but here, she didn't even get he's blind, that's a world record ! With what I saw of his rather strange sense of humor, I know I'm going to have a good laugh in the next minutes. We hear several sounds of broken glass coming from the kitchen.

"Excuse me," he says, "but I just moved in, and I'm still not used to the place..."

After a good effort and more broken glass, he finally comes back with three glasses of ice-tea on a tray.

"By the way, I didn't introduce myself. The name's Matthew Murdock, but you can just call me Matt."

"Nice to meet you, Matt. I am Scarlet Beauregard, and this is my daughter Violet."

"I think we have already met, young lady... I'm glad you changed your perfume."

He smells. "Blueberry pie ? I didn't know there was such a perfume."

Mom's rather impressed. "You... you can smell her perfume as she's at least two meters away ?"

"I have a very sensitive nose."

We briefly explain how we met (changing the story just a little), and as we enjoy the pie and the ice-tea, the conversation quickly goes to the usual topics. I then learn that Matt is nineteen and comes from New-York. He's a student at law and wants to become a lawyer, and he began studying at the Columbia University, but he suddenly felt the urgent need to move away from New-York - he says that city was getting on his nerves - and he left in mid-term to enroll at the University of Atlanta, that's why he's here today. Mom says she's surprised he rent a house instead of having an appartment or a room on the campus, and he replies he was looking for a quiet neighborhood, and he was so surprised to see this house cost almost nothing that he took it. He then adds that the agent told him the house was so cheap because all the previous inhabitants left for rather bizarre reasons and it had gained a reputation of being haunted. When he says that, I laugh so hard that I almost choke with my drink. It's very hard for me to keep my calm during the conversation, with my poor mother who still doesn't get it and keeps punctuating her phrases with "you see" and Matt who keeps replying with a sarcastic smile "yes I do".

"Oh, I would love to show you around," she says. "Atlanta is a wonderful city. Plus, we're not that far from the city itself. There's Piedmont Park that you should see, and the Georgia Aquarium too... maybe when spring comes, we should have a day out, what do you think of it ?"

"I would _love_ to _see_ all of this."

I can't resist the way he stresses on the words, and I literally howl with laughter.

"Violet !"

Mom sounds pretty embarrassed, but I can't hold it. Even Matt begins to laugh.

"Miss..."

"Scarlet, you can just call me Scarlet."

"Scarlet, what makes us laugh is how we've been talking about seeing and watching... didn't you notice anything unusual ?"

She frowns, for a moment she doesn't get it. Then, it comes, slowly but surely: the lack of decoration... the dim lighting... and the inscriptions on the boxes written in the Braille alphabet. She turns really scarlet, and it makes me laugh even more.

"Oh ! I... I... I'm really s-sorry, I... I didn't notice, you are..."

"Blind, yes. But that's no problem. As long as I keep my sense of humor, everything's okay. I just don't want to be pitied for this."

"Yes, of course."

"Actually, I lost my sight at the age of twelve. An accident, involving a truck that carried toxic waste. I received some on my face, and... it just burnt my eyes."

"Ouch, I'm sorry..."

"Can I watch ?" I ask. I know I shouldn't, but I can't resist.

"Violet !" this time, she's almost angry at me. "That is rude and morbid !"

"No, please," Matt says, "don't get mad. It's normal, it's children's curiosity. I don't mind at all, it's just... it makes a lot of people uneasy."

And on these words, he takes off his glasses and looks at me. I have a thrill, I can't help it. I have never seen that before: his eyes are white, all white, except for a very light blue shade where the iris was supposed to be.

"Jesus," I whisper, "that is creepy..."

It gives me shivers, yet I can't stop watching, I'm fascinated.

"Violet, that's enough ! Sorry, Matt, that must be very embarrassing."

"Not the least," he smiles as he put the glasses back on. "It was only embarrassing the first weeks, but I got over it. Actually, I'm quite proud of it, it is an excellent trick to initiate the conversation with girls. I just have to act as the poor blind guy who got lost, and they get caught everytime. The only problem is that I can't see how the girl I'm dating looks like."

"Then how do you know if you will like her ?" I ask.

"Easy, I rely on the smell."

"Hey, wait a minute ! Isn't that what you were trying to do, this afternoon ?"

He sniggers. "No, I swear, I was really look... _searching_, for a store."

If he's totally open about his blindness, Mom is still quite uneasy with the subject and quickly switches to other topics. It gets late, and we invite Matt to come over and have dinner with us. In the living room... where there are all my trophies. 263 trophies. I could add the 264th trophy for "Humiliated Kid Of The Year". I begin to hate these trophies, but Mom, of course, feels the need to talk about these, and how she's proud of my successful career. Then, she goes on by talking about her job. At this point, I almost fall asleep out of boredom. I mean, I know she's very proud of her job, she talks about it everytime we visit someone: she sells workout equipment and other sportsgear over the internet, and she also produces aerobics and fitness videos. Okay, I can't really complain, cause the business works and we're pretty wealthy, but in town, everyone knows my mother as "Miss Twenty Minutes". I'm surprised to learn that, in spite of his athletic figure, Matt doesn't like sports.

Later this night, Matt has already gone home, and I'm about to go to bed too. This dinner has cheered me up, I already feel like my misadventures of the day happened a long time ago.

"What do you think of him ?" Mom asks as I help her with the dishes.

"He's very nice. Kind of weird, but very nice."

"Yeah, weird, that's the word. But what do you want, he's a New-Yorker."

"Perhaps..."

"However, I really didn't like how you talked about his blindness."

"Oh, come on, he said he's very comfortable with it."

"Even if he is, these are not things to say. Imagine he got upset. I was afraid he would get upset. Could you imagine how embarrassing it would be, for all of us ?"

"I suppose so... but I need to ask you a service too."

"What ?"

"Well, I'm sure he could become a very good friend, so please don't freak him out, like the previous one."

She looks at me weirdly. "Young lady, you seem to know a lot of things you're not supposed to..." she smiles. "Okay, deal."

She then looks at the clock. "You should go to bed, now. It's late."

"Okay. Night, Mom."

"Night. I'll come to see you when I'm finished."

I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and then strip to my pajamas. In the bedroom, I stop by my bookshelf. What could I read in bed ? I'm not really a book worm, my shelf contains mostly comics. Be warned I will kick the first person who says comics are not for girls. I hate stereotypes ! Let us see... _Chronicles Of A Serpentiform Human, Shadowgheist, Splatterhouse, Stalvolk, Mikoyan, Electric Eye, Codename: Stinger Black... _I got a whole bunch of those comics written by Renaud Roddecker, the guy who's also known as the Crazy French. Mom hate those, she says it will rot my brain. Stories of hitmen, vampires, conspiracies, spies, cyborgs and ninja vigilantes, no wonder why all the mothers of the country hate it, but that's just what I like. The worst is that Mom forbids me from reading his _Lucifer Kid _comics because she says it's outright Satanist propaganda. So retard... why do the adults always have to take the fun out of everything ? I finally pick up _Snakes Hate Chocolate_. It's been a while since I last read it.

About a quarter of an hour later, I'm warm in bed with the book, but oddly, I'm trembling. This book used to be my favorite read, but now it creeps me out. Really. The story is about Snake, a young mercenary, who's hired to investigate on bizarre cases of disappearance and traffic around Walter Wincott's Great Candy Factory. So he infiltrates the facility during a visit organized for five children who won a contest, only to discover Wincott is actually an evil scientist who preys on children to pursue his experiments, and so his investigation turns into a rescue mission as he tries to take the five contest winners out of there. You've not noticed anything creepy ? Walter Wincott and his Candy Factory, that would be an odd coincidence but still okay. Except that the contest winners are five. Veronica, Mickey, Viviane, Charlie, and August. Respectively a rich heiress, a computer genius, a bully, a poor, and a lardass. The book was written long before the actual Wonka Golden Ticket Contest. That's too much a coincidence to still be okay. Want worse ? The characters and locations are drawn very ressembling to the real ones. And now that I read it again, I can't help but identify myself with Viviane and remake the Tour through her eyes... Gosh, everything written in the story could have happened during the real Tour ! It gives me cold sweat even to imagine myself one second in the Wincott Factory... I used to hate Wonka, but he's Santa Claus when compared to his alter-ego !

A knock at my door, and a sudden fright makes me gasp and drop the book on the floor. But thanks God, it's only Mom who comes to wish me good night.

"Are you okay, sweetheart ?" she picks up the book. "Still reading those horror stories... you're gonna have nightmares if you read that too much. No more read, time to sleep."

She puts it back on the shelf and comes to sit beside me. "With all that, we didn't have much time to talk about your first day back."

"Oh, there's nothing much to say, you know..."

Yeah, nothing. Really, nothing.

"It wasn't too difficult ? The lessons, and all ?"

"No, it was okay, really."

"And that accident ?"

"It was nothing, I was walking around with Connie and I slipped on ice and... I brought a trash can down with me. Just stupid."

"Are you sure ? You know, if there's something wrong, you can tell me. I have not always been there for you, I know that, but I want it to change. Okay ?"

"Kay."

"Good."

She gives me a kiss and tucks me properly in bed. I know I'm not five anymore, but still I like it. She wishes me good night one last time, and turns off the light. In the dark, as I'm slowly falling asleep, I decide that I won't tell Mom or anyone about the Devil. I learned to face my problems on my own, and that's what I'll do. I was surprised, the first time. Know, I know what to expect. Next time, he will pay. I promise.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, just a little footnote: none of the books from Violet's collection are actual books. _Snakes Hate Chocolate_ is actually my first (and still in-progress) CATCF fanfiction, with just the names and a few plot elements changed to make its appearance in this story believable. As for the other books, they're projects for original stories that I have in my head and that I will write... someday. I'm just terribly lazy...


	5. Violet's Demise

_Overwhelmed by a sort of maternal instinct that made me forget fear, I faced the stranger that was staggering closer. To my companion's horror, I dropped my gun and began to walk ahead, reaching out my open hands and chanting comforting words._

_"Violet, what the Hell are you doing ? We must go !"_

_"We can't abandon him here ! He must be terrified." I turned to the dark figure. "Come here, my friend. It's okay, you're safe with us."_

_The legendary quietness that characterized the Snake was wearing off. He had never seen such a thing before. It made his hands twitch when he looked at it._

_"Violet, this is not a child."_

_Too late ! The child was already at range, and I made eye contact with him. This moment, the moment when my blue eyes met two white, empty eyeballs, only lasted less than a second. But to me, it seemed like hours. Everything went in slow motion in my mind as I observed the stranger and realized all the extent of my mistake: the human-looking being was about my height, it was naked and its gender was unidentified. Its grey skin was smooth, totally devoid of hair, and so thin that with light, you could probably see through. It was terribly skinny, and its limbs were moving in a distorted, spasmodic manner that was not natural at all. Even a person suffering epilepsy could not move so fast. Its face was hardly human, with a mouth and two blank eyes, but it didn't have a nose or ears. And, I thought it was the most anguishing part, there was a weak, acid green glow radiating from its entrails. I saw all of that in a quarter of a second. Just before it emitted an ear-breaking screech and jumped on me._

_I didn't see it coming, and I only had the time to blink before I got pinned against the wall._

_"Help !" I screamed, just before it clenched its hands around my neck, cutting out my breath. The monster was strong, extremely strong, and its grasp was like having my neck stuck in a vise. I groaned in pain as the hot, steel-hard fingers dug in my tender skin. Snake came to help, and grabbed the monster from behind, to no avail: the monster merely jerked its head back, and it was fairly enough to throw the mercenary smashing on the opposite wall. I kept struggling, but its arms were not getting away, no matter how hard I pulled. I tried to kick its legs, but it didn't flinch and didn't even seem to feel any pain. It was hopeless ! I could already see red shadows before her eyes._

And the roaring blast of metal music invades my room and literally pulls me out of my bed. I land on the carpet, still in the morning haze, and by instinct, I look around for the zombie, but a zombie there's not. It was just a nightmare. Okay, I'm in my bedroom, I was sleeping and I had a nightmare. That's all. The strong emotion of that imaginary zombie attack and the brutality of my awakening make my heart play flamenco in my chest, and I have to stay down a few seconds to calm. I look at the clock. 6:30 am. The music comes from Matt's house. Damn, this guy wakes up a very hard way ! I get up and turn on the light. Dawn's not come yet, and as I give a look through the window, I see it's been snowing all night. Brr, gonna be a cold day again. I like winter, but I like it better when it's finished. I put on my slippers, and as I do, I gaze at my bookshelf where _Snakes Hate Chocolate_ stands in evidence, as if to tease me. Stupid book ! Mom warned me, and she was right: the dream I had is a scene from the book. I should stop with candy stories for the moment.

I move to the living room. It's a little sooner than usual, but with such a wake-up, I won't sleep anymore. In the living, the music is slightly different, as Mom, who always wakes up at least one hour before everyone else, is doing her aerobics workout with some Madonna in the background.

"Morning, sweetheart ! Already up ?"

"Yeah... Matt put some music quite loudly, so..."

"Oh, well. But I haven't made breakfast yet. Wanna join me ?"

"Workout ? But, Mom, I haven't eaten yet."

"Good, it will tease your appetite. Come on !"

"Okay..."

I see no use to discuss. I kick off my slippers and rejoin Mom in the middle of the room, where we begin. Wow, it's been a while since I last did aerobics ! At first, I completely lose the rythm, but as we go on, it slowly comes back, and my super-flexibility turns to be a great advantage. After a good five minutes, we both finish with a front split I perform without any problem. Mom, on her side, has some difficulties.

"Ouch ! God knows I'd like to be twelve again !"

"Maybe you should ask Willy Wonka to send you one of his magic gums. After a good juicing, you'll get as flexible as me."

"Yeah, I'd rather not take that risk. By the way, I'd like to have news about the cure."

"I'm gonna receive a letter from Charlie, soon. We'll see."

"Yep. Let's go and eat something, shall we ?"

I oblige. These exercises have made me starving, and tired, but it feels good.

In Matt's house, the music has calmed down a little, and as we don't have much to talk about, we decide to have breakfast watching TV. Of course, at this hour, the only thing worth watching is the morning bulletin. Oh, great !

_"And now, our special report Dana Lee, live from Atlanta, Georgia ! Dana ?"_

The image shows a place I know, it's a bank in the center. When we go shopping with Mom or Connie, we often stop there because the café near the bank makes the best muffins in town. Except that here, the whole street is full of police cars and firemen, and the bank looks like it's in flames. It feels strange to see a place you know well on TV, especially in such a state of emergency. What happened ? The young journalist speaks:

_"Sam, I'm here in front of Victory Federal Bank, in downtown Atlanta, which has been subject to a spectacular robbery moments ago. At 5 am this morning, a group of about twelve people infiltrated the building, aiming at the safes. At 5:12, the alarm got activated and police forces immediately surrounded the building, engaging in a fiery battle with the robbers. The violence of the showdowns could decently make it look like a mini-war. I have never seen such a scene since Heat. Eventually, at 6:24, the robbers set the building on fire and managed to disappear with an estimated loot of six hundred thousand dollars. Only a couple of criminals were arrested during the escape and identified as Sultan and Jamila Nassiliev, illegal immigrants of Kazakh origins. This incident makes it the eighth act of felony of the month that involves people of Kazakh origins in this city, in domains such as robberies, drug traffic and prostitution. Police chief refused to make any statement for the moment, but the public opinion begins to fear the possible rise of a Kazakh crime syndicate, here in Atlanta."_

Mom shuts down the TV. That's not the kind of news that cheers you up in the morning. Thinking that this happened in _my _city gives me a chill.

"Stinking communists !" she declares.

"I thought they were not communists for quite a while, already."

"Oh, yeah ? Then maybe they should've stayed. We had less problems when the Cold War was still going."

"I guess so..."

"What's wrong ? You look worried... don't worry, baby, as long as I'm here, no mafia mob will get his dirty hands on you."

This protective speech is so unusual from her that I snigger in surprise. Even if I admit I'm a bit worried by these news, I can't really imagine what the mafia would have to do in our part of the city. No, this problem is quite distant from my mind. I'm more preoccupied by how I should deal with Red Devil.

----------

An hour later, I pass the gates of my school and walk through the courtyard to the main building, as usual. The first kid I meet doesn't step aside as usual, but smiles nastily at me and says:

"Hi, VCB ! How ya doin ?"

VCB ? I don't answer and keep moving. Other glances, other smiles. And everyone I meet repeats the same mysterious phrase:

"Hi, VCB !"

"Hi, VCB !"

"Hi, VCB !"

They're laughing at me, I can feel that. My heart beats faster. What's going on ? I arrive in the hall.

"Hi, Violet !"

This is Cornelia. The only person to act normally, this morning.

"Hi, Connie. What's going on, here ? Everyone's like..."

She suddenly looks anxious and very embarrassed.

"Listen, Violet, you won't like that at all, so please, stay calm..."

I arrive at my locker, and I'm kinda worried. A few meters away, I can see that bitch, Penny, and her friends, laughing and looking at a paper in their hands. There's also a paper sticking out of my locker. I grab it.

"Remember, Violet, stay calm, please..."

I look. And I burst in rage.

"What the shit is _that_ !"

The paper bears a title in large, bold characters: **Violet Crybaby Beauregard**. Below, three pictures I recognize instantly: it's what happened yesterday night. The first picture shows me being held by the pleather boys, looking with my eyes bulging in terror at the phone Devil has in his hand. I remember I was so terrified because I thought he would... there's a caption with it: _Here, you can see Violet trying to overcome her terrible phonophobia..._ did he dare ! That prickhead ! I have to display an impressive amount of self control to try not to rip this sheet into confettis right now. The second picture has me crawling out of the trash can. _Just like Hulk, Violet, when extremely angry, shows her dark side... the trash can monster ! _A tear of rage rolls down my cheek. The third picture has me chatting with Matt on the street. _But finally, she prefers to give up and turn to her blind bodyguard. It was the Adventure Of Violet Crybaby Beauregard, brought to you by your friendly neighborhood..._

The signature is a stylized RD I know just too well. How did he... how could he... the paper trembles in my hands, and I can't even find the words to describe how I feel. He had already beaten me and humiliated me. Now... now he has just destroyed what remained of my reputation. Connie gently puts a hand on my shoulder. Anger has made me as stiff as a phone pole.

"I'm sorry, Violet. When I arrived this morning, there were those papers everywhere. I... I told you you shouldn't provoke him. There's no tactic that is too vicious for him..."

Penny and her clique arrive, sneering, in front of me. Penny Senorm. Every school must have a preppy whore. You know, the girl who wears skirts so short they could be used as briefs, who puts on so much make-up she looks like a Barbie doll, who makes all the boys crave for her and all the girls envy her, and, of course, who treats all her classmates like dogs because she has already lost her virginity and it makes her way superior... or at least, she claims she did. Well that's her, Penny Senorm. We share the same disdain for others, but beside that, she is everything I am not. My personal enemy. Or at least, she was before that Canadian showed up.

"Hi, VCB ! How're you ? I heard things are not going quite well for you, these days."

The girls behind her sneer even louder. I don't even talk back. I'm so shocked I'm almost paralyzed, I just stand, tensed, trying to hold back my tears.

"I always thought all those fighting things were pathetic, but I didn't know you did that to hide you're just a poooor weak little girl. Oh, are you crying ? Oh, my poor, you want a hug ?"

The girls laugh very frankly this time. I clench my fists so tight my arms begin to shake. Don't cry, whatever happens, don't cry. It would definitely finish me to burst in tears in front of that bitch. She sighs.

"It's sad, you could have been such a cool girl, if only you did some efforts for your clothes... if only you listened to me and not your mother..."

"You don't say anything about my mom, or..."

"Or what ? You're gonna punch me ? Go ahead, everyone's waiting. Show everyone how weak you are, picking on a weaker kid just because you got owned and punished by the Devil. My dad was right, bullies are just pretending to be strong until they get their ass kicked. Well, guess what ? You deserved it, VCB. You're pathetic. So what are you waiting for ? Crybaby. Loser. Bummer."

She doesn't tell more, because at this very moment, I can't hold back my fist that goes right in her face and knocks her down. The other girls shut up and gasp as they see their leader bite the dust. Then, I do burst in tears.

----------

"I'll tell you, Vi, I think you were right. You needed to shut up her mouth. She's such a bitch !"

Connie's voice comes from behind the door of the toilet booth I locked myself in right after my "exploit" with Penny. She's vainly trying to comfort me. I've already calmed myself a bit, and I almost stop crying. But I don't want to get out. Because I know what's waiting for me. The school nurse and the headmaster will shout at me for fighting again, and then I'll be the whole school's laughing-stock because of that dreadful paper. I try not to think of this, I try to focus on re-painting my face with my emergency kit. The make-up has faded because of the tears. That stupid make-up, I hate it too ! I hate everything in that shitty world, I hate my make-up, I hate Willy Wonka, I hate Red Devil !

"Vi, I know you don't feel good, but please open that door, you're only making it worse !"

Yes. Yes, she's right. I can't stay locked in and keep mourning like that, it won't make anything better. If I hate everything, I've got to fight it back. I stand up. I make sure the paint is correctly put on my cheeks and no blue skin is visible. Then, I open the door.

"Connie... where is the high school ? After class, I'll have to pay that guy a visit..."

----------

"It's here," she says, "and we're right on time."

We did everything we could to leave early this afternoon. I wanted to be here when he comes out, at five. And I'm on time. I feel anxious. The first time, I could still say he surprised me, but here, if I fail again, that will really mean he's stronger than me. And I can't let that happen. I've been thinking about it all day. When he beat me, he only used his fists. He just waited for me and punched. I shouldn't have rushed the way I did. This time, I'll be more patient. I'll wait, dodge his punches, and kick back. As a karateka, I know the legs are stronger than the arms. This will give me an advantage that will compensate my smaller size too. Kind of like when Liu Kang beats Goro in the final stage of _Mortal Kombat_. God knows how many times I finished this game...

The high school is much bigger than my own school. Where we have just a set of low buildings with the courtyard in the middle, their school is composed of massive two or three-story buildings, with a yard twice larger. Didn't you notice that, the older the students are, the bigger and better their school is ? It works for the food too. Connie's big brother told me his school meals are much better than ours. Matt must be eating like a prince in his college. Life is so unfair. We get in. Nobody stops us to ask what we're doing here, but all the students we meet look at us weirdly and snigger. Of course, that must be funny, two midgets like us in a school full of boys large as trees and girls with breasts and piercings, smoking cigarettes. That's another world. We arrive in the main hall, near a row of lockers, when the bell rings. Immediately after, the hall is flooded with teenagers coming out of their classrooms and hurry to get back home. It turns out as chaotic as a SuperBowl finale, and we have to stick to the lockers to avoid being stomped to death. I try to distinguish the Devil in the crowd - it feels weird to call him like that, even if I know his name's Terrance, I just can't help - but he's nowhere in sight. Then, suddenly, I hear it. The horrible accent.

_"Hé t'mets pô en criss pour ton cheum, lô. L'en vaut pô l'effort."_

And then I see, walking beside a tall and handsome Goth girl. They're walking toward us, but they don't see us yet. The girl looks sad or angry, and I guess he's trying to comfort her, until she finally tells him he's wasting his time because she doesn't get a thing of his Canadian patois. I see him without his helmet, and it kind of surprises me. There was some kind of a mystery behind the red visor, and I think I was imagining things. Actually, he just looks plain. A pale face, brown eyes, an average side-part haircut, and young facial hair shaven in a chaotic manner. He's not ugly, but he's not handsome either. That's impressive: if he took off that red suit of his, he would just look like a basic teenager among hundreds of others in every high school in the country. Only the red suit makes the difference. That, and his Canadian accent, of course.

They pass beside me, and stop. He saw me.

"Violet ! What a pleasant surprise ! You liked my _planche _?"

"Your what ?"

"My comic strip. A fine piece of art, isn't it ?"

"Well I didn't like it at all, and don't expect any compliment. I want revenge !"

I scream that out loud, and suddenly, the other kids stop chatting and gather around. A fight with Devil is the event of the day. That's exactly what I want. I want to beat him in public.

"Look, I'd love to kick your butt again, VCB, but it's not the moment." He waves towards the Goth girl. "Alice just got dumped by her _cheum_, and she can go and kill him if I don't take care of her."

"Her what ?"

"Her _cheum_. Boyfriend."

"Oh, okay..."

At this moment, the gang of pleather boys shows up.

"Any problem, Boss ?"

"Na, it's nothing. Just this kid who wants to visit the garbage again."

I explode: "Hey, dickhead ! You can laugh, but all I see here is talk, no action !"

To my surprise, my outburst provokes a short and intense silence, followed by howls of laughter. I should have expected they wouldn't consider me seriously, after my debacle of last night. To them, I'm just a crazy little midget asking for a beating.

"What did you just say ?"

"I'll tell you something: it looks like you're trying to avoid the fight. Cause you know you've been lucky the first time, and this time I'm very likely to beat you ! Because I'm strong and I never, ever lost a fight before. So what are you waiting for ? All your friends are watching, just give them a good show."

"You're very courageous, or you're just stupid. Thinking you can stand a single chance against me ? You're a little kid with fantasies, that's what you are. You must have dreamt of that scene tonight, you dreamed the perfect scenario, including you beating me up and regaining all your glory. Guess what ? You're dead wrong, cause you'll only manage to end up in the garbage again. Now get away before I lose my patience and turn really nasty."

"Terrance... if I lose to you this time, I'll jump into the trash can myself."

Wolf whistles fill up the hall. Apparently, I made a strong impression with that. And the other students are so enthusiastic now, I know Terrance can't get away or they might never call him Red Devil again. He stands in front of me. I feel nervous. The others stand back and give us some space. I feel like in a movie. Welcome to Fight Club.

"Connie," I ask before she steps back too, "do you have a camera in your cell phone ?"

"Sure."

"Okay, I want you to film the fight. Once I beat him, I'll show the movie around and prove I am the boss and he was just a poser."

"I hope you know what you're doing..."

She doesn't sound very optimistic, and this makes me a little more anxious. Come on, I got no reason to be afraid, I have a perfect strategy to win. She steps back. I and Devil are alone in the middle of the circle of students, an improvised arena with no barrier and no referee. That is gonna be epic...

"Shall we begin ?" he asks.

"Whenever you want."

I stand on guard. Like before, he doesn't. Nevermind, this time he won't even see it coming. My plan is simple: I will dash forward, and he'll punch. At this moment I'll just have to withdraw the few inches needed to avoid his strike, and kick him back in the jaw. The legs are more powerful, and they have a higher range. He'll be helpless. Everything will be finished in a matter of seconds.

I run ! I'm gonna do it ! I'm almost in contact, now, and I wait for the punch. I'm so it feels like we're moving in slow motion. I'm prepared to jump back as soon as I see his punch... something wrong's going on ! Instead of punching straight, he turns back at me and begins to twirl on himself. Oh, no, spinning kick ! Caught unaware, I forget my strategy and duck, avoiding the kick so tightly I feel the wind. Destabilized, I barely have the reflex to parry his next attack, a roundhouse kick. The tip of his boot hits my shoulder so harshly it feels like a bite. With the same foot, he withdraws and kicks me back again in the ribs. Another bite sensation, way more painful. Then, the shoulder, again. And the ribs, again. I'm so surprised and in pain, all I can do is parry. Five, six, seven times, all with the same foot, at a machine-gun pace, until I lose the rythm and give way for him to kick me in the temple. It's not even painful. On the contrary, he kicked so hard that for a short while, I lose all sensations, my ears are whistling and my sight blurry. Exactly the same feeling as the first time. But I still stand. Until a front kick on my chest brings me back to reality by throwing me like a rag doll into a locker, destroying the door on the way. The sensations come back. I feel like I got rolled over by a truck. Damn, how could I guess he was also an excellent kicker ? He didn't give me a single chance, and here I am, lying into a shattered locker, and I know I won't get up and fight back. I got beaten again. This time I got really beaten, in front of many more witnesses, and caught on video. Only I'm much too dizzy to want to cry. And no time to rest, as the clique of pleather boys are already grabbing me, holding me, carrying me somewhere, outside. The cold wind awakens me a bit, but not enough to allow me to struggle. I hear everyone's following, jeering and sneering, and I don't know where they're taking me.

When they put me back on my feet, I have recovered enough to stand and look. They have brought me behind the school, in front of a large trash bin. All the kids from the hall are here, watching. I can't run away.

"Violet," Terrance says with an evil grin, "you lost your bet. Now go ahead, we're watching."

I look down. I don't have the strength to look at them in their eyes, and face their sarcasms. This is my downfall. Holding my tears back, I walk slowly to the bin and open it. The good old days when I used to put nerds into those containers are definitely gone. Violet Beauregard, whose name was to be pronounced in a whisper of terror, is gone. Just like that bitch Veruca Salt, I am garbage, and my place is among garbage. I jump into the bin. The lid shuts over my head, leaving me alone in the darkness, among the familiar sticky and smelly wastes that begin to feel like my new home. I can hear them laugh, and then they begin to punch the plastic walls, it resounds into my ears. And as they continue, I huddle in a corner, among a pile of old cardboard boxes, and weep silently.

I don't know how long it lasted, perhaps a few minutes, but I finally hear them go away. The people are leaving, but the humiliation will stay with me forever. Cause this time I know, it will never be the same again. The lid opens, and I blink several times before I get used to the outside light again. Connie's standing over me.

"Vi... I... I am..." she hesitates, and then she sighs and reaches out her hand. "Wanna come out ?"

I grab her hand and let her help me out. Jeez ! I'm on for a long shower again !

"Are you okay ?"

I give her a look that could freeze the Devil himself.

"Well, I mean..."

"It could be better, but I'm alright I guess..."

We leave the school and begin to walk down the street.

"At least you can walk. He kicked you so bad, if it were me I think I couldn't even stand back up."

"Yeah, I didn't expect that at all. I thought he was a boxer and could only punch."

"That must be a different style of boxing... what are you gonna do, now ?"

I wasn't listening already when she said that. The word. _Style_. I was like thunderstruck by an idea that just popped into my head. How couldn't I think of it sooner ? Style... of course !

"Connie, you filmed the fight ?"

"Yeah, but don't worry, I won't show it since you... I think I'll erase it."

"No, don't ! Can I borrow your phone for a while ?"

"Sure," she says as she hands it to me, "but what are you gonna do with it ?"

"I have an idea. Don't worry about it, I'll tell you later. You'll have it back Thursday, okay ?"

"Not tomorrow ?"

"Tomorrow's Wednesday, we have sport all morning and I'm exempt for a while. For medical safety, they say. Things about possible aftermaths of my illness in the Factory, things like that. Whatever, I'll just skip it tomorrow. Will give me more time to prepare."

"Prepare for what ? You're so mysterious, what do you have in mind ?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell you. For now, you just need to know I'm not done with Devil yet... you wanna have a snack home ?"

"Sure. And, Violet ?"

"Yeah ?"

"You got a chewing-gum stuck on your ass."

"Dang !"


	6. Bruises, Bullets, and a Sobranie Filter

Wednesday. Early in the afternoon. As I said, I skipped school this morning. Matt's radio woke me up early again, but I didn't mind. On the contrary, I wanted to get up early, I had to prepare. I did exercises all morning to be sure I'll be in a good form, while Mom visited Matt to ask him to put his music lower in the morning. And, of course, because she can't resist the presence of a man, she invited him for lunch. He said he doesn't have class today. I can't understand why he's not afraid of Mom, all the other men are. Maybe it's because he can't see. I don't know.

Anyway, we finished lunch about an hour ago, and it's soon time for me to go. I decided to fight Red Devil with his own weapons: I go back to the dojo. Mom wasn't comfortable with the idea, at first. She's afraid that my flexibility could have made me more fragile, but I can feel that, on the other hand, she's happy to see me go back to do sport, like before. She eased up on her coaching habits, but somehow she still wants her little girl to be a little champion again. I put my white kimono in my bag, and I stand in front of my wardrobe, not knowing what I'm going to wear. There's only tracksuits in my wardrobe, with their matching trainers. They all look alike, tight-fitting with a zipper and white bands on the sides, except for the color: blue, red, pink, purple, green, yellow, black, I have a whole collection. I know, I'm not a fashion girl at all. I finally choose a white suit with black bands on the sides, and leave for the living room where Mom and Matt are having tea.

"I'm going, Mom !"

"When do you think you'll be back ?"

"I dunno... five, I think."

"Okay. Six the latest."

"No problem."

"So you're going to karate ?" Matt asks.

"Yeah. You like karate ?"

"No. I don't really see the point in everything concerning fighting. My father was a boxer, and it didn't take him anywhere."

Yeah, sure. I should tell it to Terrance, and I bet he'll burst in tears and beg my pardon for behaving like an idiot. No, this kind of people can only be handled by force. And I know what I'm talking about, I'm one of them.

I leave and walk to the dojo. It's not a very long walk and I'm quickly arrived. I'm a bit anxious. I didn't tell Mom, but a few days before the Tour, I had problems because I tried to organize a tournament like in action movies, to show off my skills. Now... let's just say I don't think I'm still welcome here. Well, better check that out: I open the door and go for the main room. I arrive at the moment of the lesson, and I recognize a few seniors. They look at me as soon as I enter.

"Hey, guys !"

"Look who's coming, Violet Beauregard ! Tell me, what tells you you're still welcome here ?"

"Oh, come on," I answer as I walk to them, and I suddenly stop because they throw me glares that could freeze a chocolate river. What's wrong, that makes them look so mad at me ? I look down, and... oh, God ! I'm wearing my shoes and socks. On the tatami. For every serious martial artist, that's a sacrilege. I quickly apologize and walk out to come back barefoot. How could I forget ? I always found that stupid, anyway. All that stuff about wearing a kimono and fighting barefoot. A punch is a punch, and a kick is a kick, no matter what kind of clothes you're wearing. They only make you buy their kimonos to gain more money, when actually, it's useless. I never asked for karate practice, but Mom absolutely wanted to add a martial art to my pedigree. I hate martial arts. I mean, I love to fight... but not with rules.

"Come on," I resume, "what's the problem with me ?"

The teacher and the senior gather around me and consider me with contempt.

"I don't know," the teacher says, "maybe you organized a remake of _Bloodsport _in my dojo, which is strictly against our policy."

"But karate is meant to fight, you know that ! That's the only interest in a martial art, it's to use it in a fight, and all those kids who come here, you teach them to fight ! So what's wrong ?"

"What's wrong is that most parents won't put their kids in karate class if they knew we really teach them a fighting style, so they need to believe their kids will only learn respect, discipline, and all that Oriental philosophy bullshido crap. We need to keep telling parents lies to make the business run, Violet, I'm sure you understand. And your behavior of the past weeks has quite compromised our image. Therefore, I will have to take disciplinary measures against you, and I'm afraid you won't be able to train with us again."

Okay, in other words, I got fired. I should feel horrified, but actually, I think I've been waiting for this for long. Karate was really getting annoying. To the greatest surprise of the seniors who were already teasing me - most of them I've humiliated more than once - I say:

"I agree. Fire me if you want. But I just need some help before I go. Just one little thing."

"What ?"

"Well, I... I got beaten."

The seniors look astonished.

"Excuse me ?" one of them asks.

"I got beaten. In a fair fight."

"Can you just speak louder, I can't hear well..."

"Fuck, I got Beaten, you get it ? B-E-A-T-E-N ! You wanted me to say it out loud, now that you've had your fun, will you help me or not ?"

"Depends, what do you want ?"

I take Connie's phone from my pocket and hand it to the teacher.

"I recorded the fight. I just want you to tell me how he does that."

"How ?"

"Well, what style he uses..."

"So," a guy asks, sneering, "who was this guy ? Chuck Norris ? Jean-Claude Van Damme ?"

"No, wait !" another responds. "That was the Kazakh mafia, wasn't it ? Hey, you'd better be careful, they're out in town, now, and I heard they were stalking after pretty girls !"

They laugh even louder.

"You're just stupid," I say. "That wasn't the mafia. It was another guy..."

Then suddenly, the teacher lets out a loud "Waw !"

"What's going on ?"

The teacher gives the phone to a senior and tells them to watch the video. Soon, the phone passes in the hands of all the students who watch the video in silence, impressed and questioning.

"Look at that ! That's one Hell of a kick !"

"You see how he arms his kicks before striking ?"

"Yeah, and he strikes with the tip of his boot. He knows he has shoes and what advantage it can give him."

"That's powerful..."

"Wild..."

I'm getting impatient. "Hey, are you finished ?"

They give me the phone back.

"Got an idea, guys ?"

"Savate," the teacher says. "No doubt about that."

"Savate ? What's this ?"

"Some kind of... French boxing."

"Is there any place to learn it, here ?"

"Oh, yeah, there's that club in the suburbs. Opened quite recently, but I can't remember the name..."

My heart plays drums. Savate ! Now, I know what to do.

"I'm gonna look for it. Thanks a lot, guys. And... good-bye !"

----------

It took me an hour, at least, to find the small building huddled in the middle of the mazy streets of a suburban area. Strange that it took me so long, because even if it's small, you cannot not notice it, with its large French flags on each side of the entrance, and the large sign over the door: _Estelle Roddecker's Savate Club_. Sure it's here. Roddecker ? Funny, she has the same name as the comic writer. Maybe she's his wife or something. I don't know, I don't know where this guy lives and I've never seen him, even on TV. I go for the entrance, and I see a red motorcyle, a Kawasaki Ninja, parked in front. Shit, I know that bike !

The door opens and I quickly dive to hide behind a post box. As I predicted, the guy coming out is Terrance. I don't want him to see me here ! He gets out with a few other people I've never seen, they're chatting, complaining about a "vicious gal", I don't quite get it, but I notice he doesn't look good, he looks exhausted and slightly tottering. I wait until he gets on his bike and leaves, and all the others are gone too. Nobody else comes out of the building. I decide to enter.

There's no-one in the hall. From where I am, I can see a small office behind a glass and another door, probably leading to the main room. The hall looks a bit like a waiting room, and out of curiosity, I pick up a newspaper I don't know, called _L'Equipe_, on a table to find out I cannot read it: it's all written in French.

"Hello ?" I call, but nobody answers. The only sound that comes to my ears is a deep and loud drum-like beat that occurs regularly, like a clock. A super-strong, super-loud clock. I decide to enter the main room, a pretty large place, all painted pale blue, with a ring in a corner and several punching bags occupying the remaining space. It's oddly sober for a boxing club, I can't see any weight or workout machine. The deep beat is louder here. I turn my head and soon find where it comes from: in a corner, there's a woman practicing kicks on a bag. That's freaking impressive: each kick produces this loud beat at impact, and the bag virtually flies away, dangling violently with its chains squeaking as if in pain. Just how hard does she kick, I don't wanna know. She reminds me of that guy in _Kickboxer_ who would work his kicks on a stone pillar. I feel sorry for that poor bag. I come closer, gently.

"Uh, excuse me ?"

A last kick from the woman breaks the chains neatly, this time, and the bag does fly, right in my direction. I dodge it at the last moment.

"_Putain_ !" the woman shouts. "What are those chains made of ? It's the third I break this week !" she eventually notices me. "Sorry, _gamine_. Looking for someone ?"

"Uh... yeah... uh... I was searching for Estelle Roddecker."

"It's me."

Somehow, I think I already knew it. The French accent, I guess. She's quite a tall figure, with broad shoulders and legs as thick as oak wood. She's clad in a blue and white tight-fitting leotard, with white boxing gloves and red boxing shoes. I realize her suit is actually imitating the colors of the French flag. She's not ugly at all, her brown eyes, short black hair and slender silhouette make her look quite good, but you can see very quickly that she's not meant to be pretty: she's a woman of action, like Painkiller Jane, for example, or older Jessifer in the end of the _Shadowgheist _serie. Hey, thinking about comics...

"Are you familiar with Renaud Roddecker ?" I ask. It's not the main question I wanted to ask, but it's the first that came to me. She sighs and goes to fetch the broken bag.

"If you're after any bit of info about my cousin, you're at the wrong place. Others came before you, and I didn't tell them a darn thing."

"Your cousin ?"

"Yeah... _au troisième degré_. We don't see each others that much, and I guess it's better like that. Now, if you please, I got some..."

"I want to learn Savate."

She looks at me, with a challenging look in her eyes.

"Ah, now, you're beginning to interest me. Why do you want to learn Savate ?"

Of course, I can't tell the true reason... so I say I'm just curious.

"Curious ? Wrong answer."

"What ?"

"You learn to play billard when you're curious. Or at most, you take Judo lessons when you're curious. But you don't learn Savate just because you're curious. It's like breaking your own leg to see if it hurts. So why do you want to learn ?"

"Okay... it's for... revenge."

"Revenge ? Oh, poor girl, you're being bullied and you want to kick ass ?"

"Hey, keep your remarks for yourself !"

"Hmm... nervous and impulsive. I like that better. So, who's the target ? The big bad wolf ?"

"Terrance Phillips."

This makes her burst in laughter.

"Phillips ? That _crétin_ who calls himself Red Devil ?"

"You seem to like him a lot..."

"He's a very good boxer, but he couldn't read a book for his life. I'm sure he doesn't even know what a book is."

As she's talking, she goes to a locker and comes back with an extra pair of gloves that she hands me. I ask:

"When you say very good... how good, exactly ?"

"Well, he's the only one to be still standing after a whole round against me. Come on, put this on, and show me what you've got."

"What, right now ?"

"Of course, now."

She goes in the ring and waits for me. God, this is serious. After what I saw with the bag, I'm afraid to face her. I hope she'll be kind and won't send me back home on a stretcher. Quickly, I take off my vest, shoes and socks, put on the gloves and rejoin her.

"What are you doing barefoot ?" she asks.

"What... well it's for..."

"In boxing, we fight with shoes. Put them back on."

I oblige and rejoin her.

"You've already practiced before ?"

"Karate."

"Oh, that explains... okay, first lesson: in Savate, we fight for real, that is, as if we were fighting in the street. And in the street, you don't usually go barefoot wearing pajamas. So, forget about your karate suit and all your rituals of salute, discipline and all. Savate is meant to fight, flesh against flesh and bones against bones, and not to punch in the air like a retard. Got it ?"

"But there are rules, aren't there ?"

"Yep. Punch and kick only. No knee, no elbow. But don't hesitate to kick everywhere, except where no-one would go. Ready ?"

"Ready."

"Go !"

She comes close, I don't hesitate one second.

_Yaah !_

Straight punch, the way I learned in karate. A punch that can break woods. It never reached her. She steps aside in a swift move, too fast for me to see, and then I feel like being cruelly whipped when she kicks me in the ribs and throws me down, groaning in pain.

"That's all ? One kick and you're down ?"

"I... I was surprised."

"Sure, you were expecting me to block and counter for you to block again, and on and on... but here, this is not karate. Savate is real fighting, you need to forget all the crap you learned in your dojo if you wanna win. A punch is a punch, a kick is a kick. No bitching needed. Forget your technique and your discipline, just learn to be vicious. Come on, let's resume."

Her advices are very helpful. Really. Thanks to them, I can hold at least ten more seconds before kissing the dust again. I try ! I try to be tricky and vicious, but I'm not enough. Weird, ain't it ? That's the first time in my life I have a problem because I'm not nasty enough. I didn't know the world of Savate until now, and it's not a world I'm made for. Her kicks strike like pistons and send me bounce into the ropes, as for her punches, they're like a machine gun, and I can hardly see the first coming before the second already hits my head. In karate, I was used to fight one strike at a time. That's how I always learned. Here, I just can't hold the rythm and I'm totally lost and defenseless before her speed and her strength. It's not boxing. It's a cockfight. After an eternity of torments, I get thrown down for the hundredth time, and she decides to let me breathe.

"I don't understand," she says, "I thought you were good. Well, bad mistake..."

That teasing makes me explode:

"That's the gloves ! Those freaking gloves ! You can't fight properly with that ! So you say it's real fight and all, and you make us wear gloves ?"

"Hey, chill out, _gamine_. I don't like gloves either, but I got no choice, the Federation has decided. But, if you really insist, I can show you some Classic Savate..."

"What's Classic ?"

"Simple: no gloves, no rules."

"Is it legal ?"

"Of course not !"

She takes off her gloves and throws them out of the ring.

"So, take the risk ? You can try every technique you want, there's only one rule: no ground fight. That's all."

I take a deep breath. That's surely the most stupid thing I'll do. Of course, when I think that, I have no clue of what's going to happen in the next months. I take off my gloves and stand on guard, facing her. We can hear the clock ticking. I'm tensed.

The bell rings.

I immediately throw my kick, which she evades with ease and kicks back. I block. It really is much easier with bare hands ! I grab her leg in mid-air and I push her back.

"You learn fast," she says. And immediately after, she throws her attack. Forget what I said. Bare hands, it's far from easier ! Now, the strikes are much faster, and without rules, they come in every shape and form, kicks, knees, elbows, punches, back punches, and even slaps, I can't see anything coming ! But at least, with no rules, it's easier for me to use karate blocks and tricks, and for the few totally insane minutes we spend trading blows, I believe I'm holding the distance. I believe... until I receive five kicks in the butt in a row. I step back and demand a break.

"Aouch, you just kicked my ass !" I complain.

"Yes, and in the literal sense of the expression."

"But that's bastard ! And you call that a style ?"

"I never called that a style. Sports Savate is a style. With no gloves, we're fighting the Classic, street way. And there's never been any style on the street. A streetfight is never beautiful, or glorious, or even fair. It's all about pain, blood, and bastard moves. That's what your so-called martial arts promoted by crappy movies with Van Damme always failed to understand."

"You know you got a serious grief against martial arts..."

The bell rings.

"Break's over !" she yells, cheerfully. "Let's finish it quick."

I'd like to be as happy and confident as she sounds. But I'm just a painful wreck, right now. She throws a large double flying kick. I see it coming with ease, and I bend down to dodge it. Brought by the speed of her own moves, she turns her back at me for less than a second, but that tiny mistake is more than enough for me to find a weakness and strike: I kick the back of her leg to force her on her knees, and then, I fold my arm around her neck and hold tight. She can't do anything.

"Gotcha !" I shout. "Now, I can choke you or crack your neck if I want !"

"Oh yeah ? How about this !"

I suddenly feel both my legs being swept off the ground, and the second after, she's standing up straight and has me held over her head, like a wrestler. This is insane ! I can't believe how strong she is, lifting me up as easily as if I were a paper bag ! To finish, with a roar like a weightlifter, she throws me out and I slam on the mat. Black-out.

"_Gamine _! Hey ! Hey, _gamine_ !"

I feel a hand shaking me slowly by the shoulder, and a wet rag on my forehead. I open my eyes, and all the darkness turns back to the blue room, the bags and the boxing ring I'm lying on.

"What happened ?"

"You passed out," Estelle explained. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to slam you down like that, but I just... a reflex, you know..."

"That's okay. After all, you warned me several times your style is... rather barbaric."

"I'd rather say it's frank and it cuts the bullshit, but everyone's entitled to their own opinions. Wanna get up ?"

She lends me a hand and helps me back on my feet. I can stand. I'm not in such a bad condition, actually. That's a relief. The boxer delicately removes the wet rag.

"How does it look ?" I ask.

"Well, no blood, no open wound, that's already a good thing. But you've got such a huge bruise... wait, that's not a bruise, it's much too blue. Looks like ink or something. I think I gave you a dirty rag..."

I panick. Damn, I totally forgot the make-up ! With the wet rag, it was fading ! I snatch the rag from her hand and immediately put it back on my head.

"Nevermind," I stammer, "I'm gonna clean that up. Where's the bathroom ?"

"Right door. I'll be waiting in the office."

I hurry to the direction she gave me, and in front of the mirror I take my emergency kit and quickly repair the damage. When I look normal again, I rejoin her in the office and sit on the chair she offers me.

"So, was I good ?"

"To be honest, err... what's your name, by the way ?"

"Violet Beauregard."

"Familiar with Scarlet Beauregard ?"

"She's my mother. For what ?"

"Oh, for nothing. Anyway, to be honest, Violet, you're far behind Terrance Phillips. You don't have what it takes."

"What ? But I stood over a round against you !"

"I was holding back."

I'm stunned. The whole beating I took, and she was holding back. I don't even want to imagine what it's like when she fights for real.

"Okay, so you're gonna teach me ?"

"No. Impossible."

"What ? Why is that ?"

"You're not sixteen. It is a sport for adults, and I can't take any student under sixteen. Rules of the federation."

"What ? You've gotta be kidding ! What was the point of all that fight if you can't take me as a student ?"

"I actually don't like these rules and I believe anyone should have the right to come and train here regardless of their age. _Merde_, if it were just for me, we'd practice in a back alley and with no gloves ! But the federation has the final word. Here, I broke the rule to show you the real thing. I like you, _gamine_, you have guts and you can sure go very far, so I was proud to show you the French way to fight. I just hope it was instructive and you'll keep training... but not with me, sorry. I might get in trouble if you come back."

I sigh. It really is not the way I expected things to happen. Everything has been and keeps going wrong since I came back from that damned Factory.

"I understand," I say. She offers her hand.

"Cheer up, _gamine _! I'm sure you're tough enough to train without a coach. You might get to a high level. Come back in a few years, but meanwhile, let's be friends, okay ?"

I take her hand. "Okay. Let's be friends. Goodbye, Miss Roddecker."

I manage to hold my frustration back until I get out of the gym... and once in the street, I unwind on the post box. I'm tired and in pain from the nasty treatment I received on the ring, yet I keep kicking the box until my legs go numb. But seriously, how would you feel, you, if you came back to school to learn you've lost everything you had, you got humiliated thrice by the same guy, fired from your dojo, and finally denied a boxing training because of your age ? Heck, how can I possibly stand against Red Devil if I can't even train properly ? As I grow tired, I calm down, and coldly begin to accept the facts: I've tried everything, and it didn't work. I'm finished. Doomed. Game over. Queen Violet is dead, I'm forever condemned to be Number Two, and now I'll have to learn to live like the others, to give money to Devil and do his homework when he wants me to, or be thrown head-on in a trash can. The worst scenario I've ever dared to think of is happening. I think I would even have preferred to remain blue forever if that meant Devil didn't even exist.

"What's wrong, girl ?"

I turn round as I hear that voice, a very unpleasant voice, half-whispered half-hissing. It actually gives me a chill. A few meters from me, there's a big black Mercedes-Benz parked along the sidewalk, the engine still on and purring. All the windows are tinted black, and through the driver's window, which is half open, I can only distinguish the gleaming red dot of a cigarette and some jazz music coming from the radio. I decide to keep my distance and stay silent. Mom always told me not to talk to strangers. Especially when they're in a car with tinted windows. That's creepy.

"Why don't you answer, girl ?" the eerie voice continues. "I'm a human being, don't I deserve a little conversation ? Come on..."

He reaches out through the window and waves his hand for me to approach. I step back. I think I'd better go. I can't see that man, but he doesn't sound honest. What if he gets out and runs after me ? I don't think I'll be able to resist. So what if he kidnaps me and... I've seen too much of that in the news...

"Come and have some fun," he says.

I try not to show that I'm afraid. If he feels my fear, it could make things worse. His arm is covered by a shiny black leather sleeve, with a black leather glove. And he also has a bague on his middle finger. A big silver bague put over the glove. I think I will always remember that jewel: it represents a human skull embedded into a Soviet hammer and sickle symbol, with a snake winding around it and biting the forehead of the skull. Creepy... looks like the kind of ring a gangster could wear. I feel ready to run for my life. If he opens the door, I must not hesitate one second. And then...

Two gunshots from behind a nearby building give me a start, and right after, two husky men clad in black jeans and jackets pop out of a narrow alley and jump into the car that drives head over heels and disappears from my sight in a second, leaving me alone in the middle of the street. Gosh ! It all went so damn fast, I didn't see anything coming ! It takes me a while to really understand that something terrible just happened before my eyes: gunshots. That's obvious. The two guys in black have killed someone, and the creepy man with the bague was their driver. There's been one Hell of a murder in this street ! I fall on my knees under the shock. How could it be ? The most serious accident I have ever witnessed was when Augustus got sucked by a pipe in the Factory, and he came out alive. This... this is... way different ! As I look at the snowy street, I notice something like a small stick, black and gold. I pick it up, and see it's actually the half-burned remain of the cigarette the driver was smoking. I didn't even notice when he tossed it over before he fled. The cigarette is all black, with a golden filter. A luxury brand, no doubt. The fear is suddenly replaced by a thrill when I consider this could be used as a clue to investigate. I feel like I'm starring in a detective movie !

I pick up the clue and observe it. The filter has a symbol printed on it with words in tiny characters. I focus and manage to decipher:

_Sobranie Black Russian._

Oh, no. I think I know who are the killers... why didn't I think of it sooner ? The symbol on the bague with the hammer and sickle, and now that cigarette brand ! Russian... Kazakh, that's very close. These guys were mobs of the Kazakh mafia ! And they were so close to me... it already felt weird to see a bank I know well going up in flames by their hand, but I didn't feel really involved, I just had to tell myself it was only on TV ! But here, I met them in person ! They're real... and they're really taking over the city. I must go home, before I meet others like these.

----------

I push the front door. I ran like mad to arrive before dusk, and now, I'm exhausted. Exhausted, but safe. I still can't believe what happened hardly half an hour ago. Sometimes, I feel like I have dreamt everything, but I just have to remember the cigarette in my pocket to bring the reality back. It did happen, and I saw it. It's odd, now the fact that I was banned from boxing and Devil is still stronger than me seems terribly futile.

"Is that you, Violet ?" Mom calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm home !" I answer, trying to sound calm. I go to the living room. Damn, it's so hot and wet, it's like a sauna ! The only times it becomes like that is when I and Mom do super-excessive workout, which is quite rare, now. Matt is still there, sitting on the sofa. He's in sweat, his glasses have been removed, and he's panting like a dog, looking extremely worn-out, but with a strangely satisfied smile on his face. Something really weird happened while I was gone...

"Matt ?"

"Oh, hi, Violet ! How're you doing ?"

"Fine... what happened, here ? You look tired..."

"Oh, yeah... your mom wanted to show me her workout stuff, and, well, we did a little... practice."

"Matt ?"

"What ?"

"Your jeans are unzipped."

He hurriedly fastens them up with panic. That's almost funny to see. I pick up something on the floor, a curious device consisting of two pink furry rings linked with a short chain. Looks like handcuffs... covered with pink fur. Odd...

"So that's the kind of stuff you worked out with ?"

At this very moment, my Mom's hand appears from behind and snatches the object from me.

"Oh, that," she says, sounding really embarrassed, "no, that's... that's nothing."

I turn back just to see her throw the bizarre handcuffs out of my sight. Wait... Mom ? Gosh, she looks like a parrot after the storm ! All sweaty and worn out, like Matt, her make-up has faded and her hair is all messy and... she has a cigarette in her mouth ! But Mom never smokes, except when she... when she just... oh... no ! Oh, no, that's gross !

"So, how was your day, sweetheart ?"

"Uh... very nice ! Really !"

"You sound worried about something," Matt notices. I forgot he has excellent ears. Actually, at this moment I don't know what is disturbing me the most: the murder I've just witnessed, or imagining what Mom and Matt have done while I was away.

"Na, I'm just a little... tired. Karate is so exhausting..."

I know I don't sound convincing, I'm not very good at hiding my feelings. Then at this moment, someone rings at the door. My Savior ! Mom goes to open.

"Hey, hi, Walt ! Wanna come in ?"

She comes back in the living with Walt, a cop in the district she knows well, and also the second man who can approach her without being afraid. Now, they're three with Matt. That is to say, it's obvious that Walt is not my Mom's kind of guy: middle-aged, thin grey hair, two chins and a generous stomach. Married. Three children. Your typical neighborhood cop. Even his name sounds so cop-ish. I'm not too proud of how he and Mom came to know each others... okay, actually, Walt brought me home multiple times after busting me for fighting with kids or doing other kinds of vandalism after school. Like, for example, that night when I "borrowed" a road roller from a construction field to go for a ride. Don't worry, I stopped doing that stupid stuff long before the Factory Tour. But, well, after so many home-bringings, Walt and Mom eventually became friends.

"Want a coffee, Walt ?"

"No, thanks, Scarlet. I won't be long."

The cop looks at Matt who had put his glasses back on and stood up.

"This is our new neighbor," Mom explains, "Matt Murdock."

"Nice to meet you, Mr Murdock."

"Me too."

"So, what's the matter ?" Mom asks.

"Well, we've received several complaints in this area about a rooftop runner."

"A rooftop runner ?"

"Yeah, a guy who runs on rooftops. We have several witnesses who talk about a guy dressed all in black who appears in the neighborhood in the middle of the night. A kind of street acrobat who climbs on houses and jumps over phone poles."

"Really ?"

"Yep. That guy must be terribly sidewalk-phobic, or he's just a bored fellow looking for some adrenaline. But people fear he might be a burglar. You know we've been having criminality problems, recently, with the... anyway, we need to be very cautious, so I'm doing a patrol around, asking people if they know something..."

He then looks at me. I don't like that, it's exactly the same look he used to give me when he lectured me about my behavior on the way home. He continues:

"And, to be honest, I was wondering if Vivi The Kid had something to do with it. After all, it looks exactly like something you could do..."

Vivi The Kid... God I hate that name ! It's something he invented when I was in my bad period. A pun on Billy The Kid. He must be the only guy to think it's funny. I'm ready to retort something nasty when Mom talks in my place, semi-amused:

"Walt ! Come on, you know she's not like that anymore. She's grown up."

"I sure hope so... Mr Murdock ?"

"Sorry, officer, I didn't _see_ anything that could help you."

Once again, he overstresses on the _see_, and it makes me laugh. Big Walt takes a few seconds to realize what's going on and he sniggers too.

"Okay, Mr Murdock, sorry, I didn't notice... then I think you can't be the mysterious acrobat either, eh ?"

"I don't know how I could..."

"Sure. By the way, call me Walt. I don't like _officer_. Well, thanks for your help, and..."

He gives me another of his looks: "Behave !"

That's really annoying, he will never trust me. But maybe I don't deserve it. I watch him leave, and I tell myself I should tell him... or not ? He's here, that's the best occasion. And even if he can't do anything, at least I'll feel relieve. I run after him.

"Wait, Walt ! I got a friend who lost her cat, and..."

I mumble a lie until we're both arrived outside, and I shut the door behind me.

"Sorry, Vivi, but I don't really have time to look after pets..."

"Shht," I whisper, "speak lower. I don't want my mother to know, but it's very serious."

"What's going on ?"

"I saw... I saw a murder happen."

I swallow hard before I go on: "It was near the Roddecker Savate Club. Three guys in a black Mercedes. They shot and fled like the wind !"

He smiles. "You're a pretty good actress, you know. What tells me it's not one of your tricks again, Vivi The Kid ?"

"Walt, please believe me... I know I'm not an example of good behavior, but this time I'm really serious."

"Who's the victim, then ?"

"I don't know. I didn't see it really, I just saw them leave."

"So, you don't have anything to say except three guys in a black Mercedes ? That is pretty light."

I take the black cigarette from my pocket and give it to him. He watches it with interest.

"The driver was smoking this," I explain. "He tossed it out when they left."

"A Sobranie ? That's not a very common brand, for sure..."

"The driver was wearing gloves. I mean, in case you tried to collect fingerprints... Walt, I think it was the mafia."

"The mafia ?"

"Yeah, you know, the Kazakh mafia. The guys who robbed the bank, I saw that in the news. I think it was them."

Moment of silence. Then, he finally speaks:

"Okay, honestly, I don't think you could have made out all this story. You sound way too serious, but I hope for you it's true. If there's been a murder, we'll know it tonight anyway, so if you're really telling the truth, come at the precinct tomorrow after school, and tell me everything you know."

"Fine, but please, not a word to Mom. I don't want her to get worried."

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "You've always been a tough kid, Violet. See you tomorrow, and don't worry, we'll handle it."

He finally goes. I feel relieved of a great weight, but I'm still worried. Cause I'm just thinking of something: what if it really is the Kazakh mafia ? If they learn there's an investigation against them, they'll automatically think it was me. I saw that too many times in movies. They will find my name. They will find my house. And then... oh, shit, how happy I was, a few hours ago, when Terrance Phillips and that boxing stuff were my greatest problems !

I will sleep terribly, tonight...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just a few footnotes that could be useful, by the way...

I don't have an actual Savate champion for a cousin. Estelle Roddecker is a totally made-up character. However, the Savate sport does exist, though it is highly dramatized in this chapter. It's not that violent anymore, in reality, and is a pretty accessible sport.

I didn't want to represent Savate as the ultimate style or anything. I just thought this sport I do practice and love is not represented enough in the media, contrary to all the Asian martial arts with all their mysticism and stuff that really annoys me, that's why I represented it this way in this chapter.

Sobranie Black Russian is an actual brand of cigarettes. I heard these were darn expensive...


	7. Mob Rules

_Friday, February 19th..._

It was quite early in the afternoon, when a black Mercedes, with black-tinted windows, passed slowly through several neighborhoods, in Atlanta main city. The car arrived in an area of fast-foods and malls, a rich, crowded avenue. Nobody cared about this weird, all black car, when it stopped and a group of middle-aged men came out. All were husky fellas, with broad shoulders, crew cuts, black army vests, combat boots, leather fingerless gloves... some of them even had scars. Not your typical honest citizens. They all had the eyes of an ex-con maniac. People passing by instinctively stepped aside when the weird guys walked to a low building and, passing through a blue curtain, went inside.

The _Osaka Baths_. A quiet sentô, a Japanese sauna, in downtown Atlanta, nothing more. From the outside, it was a plain building and didn't catch the eye, but inside, it was all about shiny wooden floor, delicate wood and paper walls, china decoration, and large paintings of Mount Fuji. Outside, you were in the United States. Inside, you were in Japan. All of the place was plunged in a thick mist of steam, and it was so hot and wet that the men began to feel uncomfortable, clad in their black clothes. But they didn't mind. They were not here for a bath, after all.

A young, very attractive Japanese woman in a traditional gown soon arrived to greet them, and expressed herself in an almost torturous Engrish manner:

"I am sorry, Gentremen, the baths are crosed to the pubric today."

"We are not here for a bath," one of the men replied with the accent of those who write their Rs backwards, "we need to see Mr Sonychiba. For... important business."

The woman looked at her guests with round eyes. Their West-Asian accents made her quite uneasy. She stammered something about going to talk to her boss, and disappeared quickly. A few seconds later, a monster appeared from one of the bathrooms. The landlord, Mr Yamamoto Sonychiba, had the impressive frame of a Sumo wrestler and the piercing gaze of a Samurai warrior. He was going pretty well, and only his thin white hair was relevant of his old age. When you saw him come, clad only with a large towel wrapped around his waist, thus revealing a beautiful full-body tiger tatoo on his massive figure, you knew instantly he was not a man to joke with. A former yakuza. A man who knew how to kill people. He arrived and arrogantly looked at his guests. In very good English, he then said:

"You... you look exactly like Russian weasels..."

"Kazakhs, Mr Sonychiba."

"I do not care. What do you want ?"

"We have been sent by our boss to propose you our... services. Mr Sonychiba, you must be aware that in the world of today, insecurity is rampant, therefore it would be wise to donate a few dollars... for your own protection."

"Protection money, that is so ? Who do you think I am, young cock ? This is racket you are talking about, nothing less and nothing more. I know very well who you are. I fled Japan to escape scum like you, and you, young redneck from the asshole of Asia, you dare come here with your mob and talk about protection money ? Be aware that I could kill you all right now, bare hands. You were still just a pack of horse-riding farmers when we, the Japanese, were already the rulers of all Asia. You are no match for me. Now, go, and consider yourself lucky I let you out alive."

The Kazakh Mr Sonychiba was talking to was losing patience. Feeling deeply insulted by this speech, he was already clenching his fists, ready to rumble this place over, even if he had one chance out of one to get killed by the landlord.

"Vassily, _ostanovites _!"

All the men froze at this order, and turned to a part of the hall that served as a small bar. A man was sitting at a table, enjoying a drink of sake. He stood up and went to the Japanese man. He was a Kazakh too, though largely different from the rest of the group: he was young, a little shorter than the others, his thin and athletic body fully clad in a tight-fitting leather suit, with a large belt, gloves, and cow-boy boots. His spurs clinked at each step. The total lack of a beard, his thin face and his neck-long hair slicked back gave him a very young appearance. Facing Mr Sonychiba, he was like a Yorkshire Terrier facing a Rottweiller. But still he was confident, and even bold. He calmly dropped the cigarette he was smoking - a Sobranie Black Russian - on the floor and crushed it with his heel.

"Please excuse the hot-blooded attitude of my comrades, Chiba-san. I hope we can keep talking quietly, like adult people."

The Japanese considered the young man with even more disgust than the others.

"I heard about you," he said. "You are that one they call Snake. So you really are the executor, the right-hand man of that pathetic crime syndicate of yours. Yes, I heard things about you, especially that you are quite... effective. What a joke ! Taking yourself so seriously, you are nothing more than a pawn in the game. Go and tell your boss he can put his protection money where I think."

The large man then turned away disdainfully. For him, the talk was over. Not for them.

"Chiba-san," the young man they called Snake called, "I totally acknowledge you are a man of honor. Please believe that my boss and I have great respect for this. Reject us now, and we will only come back in greater number to destroy this place. Instead, may I propose you to deal with us in the... honorable, manly way ?"

The yakuza turned to him again, greatly interested. "So that is how you are going to show me all your talent, Snake. I haven't fought in ages, but though the body can grow old, the knowledge, like good wine, grows finer with the years. I will crush you without remorse."

Snake wasn't at all intimidated. He just smiled:

"Wanna bet ?"

----------

The main bath. It was a tiled pool, large as a swimming pool, but only a few feet deep. Empty of all water as it was now, it could make a perfect fighting arena. The two "competitors" were already in the middle of the improvised ring, warming up. A leather-clad Caucasian version of Bruce Lee opposing a tank-like heavily tatooed yakuza. All of this looked nastily like a punk remake of _Enter The Dragon_. As for the spectators - consisting of Vassily and the other Kazakh henchmen that came along - they were standing on the pool bank that was farthest from the fighters, so as not to disturb them. The Japanese girl rejoined them a moment later, carrying a ghetto-blaster.

"I got what you wanted, Mr Snake," she said.

"Cool ! My favorite record's inside ?"

"What do you want ?"

"Night Ranger, _The Secret Of My Success_." The young man paused and turned to his opponent. "Well, if you don't mind some music during the fight, of course..."

"Go ahead, it doesn't matter. Kids today can't do anything without music."

The girl pushed a button, and the good old rock tunes invaded the room. Snake was in a trance and began to show off, performing the splits and even moonwalking in some kind of mock rock'n roll dance.

"Snake," Chiba called, "enough of that, we've got a fight on the way !"

"Oh, sure. Sorry."

"Don't talk, act. Come on, show me your kung-fu !"

The leather boy stood on guard, focusing all his energy. A soft hiss came out of his lips as he contracted his muscles. At this moment, with a speed and suppleness that were utterly surprising considering his massive frame, the yakuza charged his opponent, with enough force to run him over like a truck. Calm down, wait for the right time... now !

As Chiba was almost at contact, the young mobster let out a resounding reptilian hiss and dove the tip of his boot straight into the large tatooed belly like a jackhammer. Chiba immediately had a start, totally stopped in his speed, and jerked a few feet back, coughing and holding his belly with both hands. Usually, when Snake performed that move, blood would soon pour from the stomach, and the victim would just lay down, their guts turned into peanut butter. But when Chiba recovered from the shock and removed his hands, he had nothing but a bruise. How the Hell !

"Is that all ? You're disappointing, Snake."

The boy replied with spite: he threw his kick, aiming at the head, but the fat man dodged with ease. You recognize a true fighter as someone who keeps a good velocity and good reflexes in spite of an old age and an overweight. The two fighters traded a few punches. Chiba's arms were larger than oaks and tougher than rock, but still, Snake managed to block, parry, and response with faster moves, slaps and knife-style punches, aiming at the head. To be honest, Snake was much faster than his opponent, and it was about his sole advantage, for he was no match concerning the strength. His comrades were cheering him. A palm strike in the chin pushed the Japanese back and stunned him for a second. The young man used this advantage to throw a large high kick. And another one. He stopped. Chiba was "standing K.O." and would fall in a second. He won ! Relieved, he smiled and began to walk to the bank, towards his friends. That was an easy victory, in the end.

"Wait a second !"

He turned back. Chiba hadn't fallen, on the contrary, he was fully recovered. What the Hell was he made of ?

"Okay, second round !"

Snake attacked with a roundhouse kick, dodged again with ease. The fat man was much better than he thought ! Punches, parries, fast and faster, but there was no way to put him down ! Snake kicked his head again, but this time, Chiba caught the foot in the air, and lifted his opponent to toss him down like a wrestler. Light as the Kazakh was, it was easy to lift him and throw him, and the Japanese didn't hesitate to use this method again and again. The other gangsters were way less cheery now, seeing their champion being helplessly thrown in the air and wrestled down. After a good hard time, the young man was powerbombed and remained down on the tiled floor, motionless. Chiba turned back and walked to the Kazakh mobsters, who were properly horrified: their champion was down ! Their champion was K.O. !

"See," the Japanese said, "see how I deal with you crooks. What I did to him, I can do it to you all. Keep in mind that I have been gentle. It was just a warm-up. The next one, I will kill him."

The only one applauding his victory was the girl. The others were hesitating between yielding to anger and attacking - and getting killed - or running away right now. Why the Hell had they not brought a gun ? The boss had forbidden them to do so since they pretty messed up with a grocer in the suburbs, two days ago. And here was the result, a failure !

"Wait a second, this is not over yet..."

The yakuza turned round. Smiles appeared on the Kazakhs' faces. The girl was silent, too terrified to speak. The landlord was just unimpressed, and even amused: Snake was standing back up. Tired and in pain, he wanted some more. Sonychiba Yamamoto respected the effort. If he were Japanese, he would've been a great yakuza. But he had been warned. Better finish him off quickly. The fat man charged like a bull. He would give him a punishment he would always remember. He would crush him like an insect.

_Impulse !_

At the last moment, Snake gathered his strengths in a somersault, and passed behind his opponent. Chiba was confused. He didn't expect the boy to disappear from his sight like that ! He turned back, searching for his target, but then... black out. He just felt claw-like fingers on his face, and a powerful impulsive force that practically propelled him back - a man of his weight ! - to crash against the opposite bank, smashing tiles to pieces with the shock.

When the landlord regained consciousness, his face was soaked with his own blood, that was pouring from ten wounds on his skull - the ten places where Snake had put his fingers during the attack - and the Kazakh boy was standing, tired but victorious, above him.

"You lose, Chiba-san. What am I going to tell my boss, now ?"

"Tell him... that I fully accept the issue of this battle. I agree to pay him whatever money he wants."

"You're a man of your words. But I have a better idea. A man of your might could be useful to our organization. I will tell my boss not to make you pay. In exchange, we will call you if we need your services."

"Then I am a member of your mob against my will ? Fine. I lost my freedom in a fair fight, and I accept all the consequences. Tell your boss I will gladly work for him in the future."

"I'm glad we found an agreement. Thank you, Chiba-san, and have a nice day."

----------

_Saturday, February 20st..._

Our car passes the large grids of Prinzmetal Estate, in the outskirt of Atlanta. Connie's father's property is huge, really huge, even Veruca could be jealous of it. We pass through a forest of conifers to stop in a large yard in front of the massive three-story Roman-style white mansion. Looks megalomaniac for only one man and his two children, doesn't it ? And yet, you should see how it looks in Summer: usually, in May, the gardeners would plant palmtrees around the yard, and the place then looked so much like the lair of Tony Montana that you would expect cigar-smoking Cuban gangsters in flashy suits to burst out of the garden at any moment. But, no, Al Prinzmetal is nothing like a criminal. Just an excentric and very successful businessman.

Mom is about to open the door of the car when Brandt, the butler, appears out of nowhere and opens it for her. This kind of makes us laugh. We're not at all in our universe, here. Compared to them, we're bums. Mom takes the basket of cookies and we walk to the huge entrance door. Mom always has to cook something when we visit someone. If it's not an apple pie, it's cookies. As for myself, I'm carrying the cardboard box full of candy I received from Charlie yesterday, to test some new - but safe ! - treats with Connie and her brother. Charlie was very nice in his letter. He said things are going very well in the Factory, and now that they're two twisted minds in command, they're more creative than ever. He also said he's sorry, but they still haven't found a stable treatment for the three-course-meal gum side effects. Guess I'll have to live with the make-up for another few months...

But that damn blue skin is only a small problem compared to the Hell my life has become. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but still. The last two days were horrible ! First, as I foresaw, I had a nightmare Wednesday night in which the Kazakh mafia invaded my home and kidnapped me in my sleep. The worst is that... this dream was just cheesy to death ! So cheesy it looked like the plot of a bad _Superboy_ episode. Wait, that's a pleonasm. Anyway, in the end, they tied me to a conveyor belt with a big scroll saw at the end - told you it was cheesy ! - and at the last moment, I was rescued by a Matt Murdock dressed like a mix of Red Devil and Batman. That's when I woke up. That had to be the weirdest dream I ever had.

Tuesday, I showed up at the police station after school, and Walt told me they found that a grocer had been murdered around where I heard gunshots, so now I'm officially a crime witness. I really needed that ! I told them everything I saw and heard, and they said they would start an investigation, but they didn't have enough elements to make it progress. Just great, that means they will never find them, and now, the guy with the bague can come after me anytime. And don't forget the school itself, of course: everyone heard about my second defeat and how I had to throw myself into the trash bin, so now I must be the whole city's shame. I basically spent the last two days taking narrow alleys to avoid meeting the cursed Kawasaki Ninja and its rider, and spending recesses in the toilets to escape tauntings and sarcasms. This week-end is most welcome ! I'll finally unwind. Today, we visit the Prinzmetals, and tomorrow, Sunday, we're taking Matt to have lunch at the Varsity and _see _- if he were here, he would make a smart-ass comment about the verb - the Georgia Aquarium. I still don't know if I'll be able to withstand seeing Mom and Matt side by side, knowing what happened between the two... yuk !

Brandt guides us to a luxurious lounge that looks like it's coming right out of the Titanic, where Mr Prinzmetal, clad in one of his favorite Armani suits, is totally absorbed in a conversation on the phone.

"Seventy ? Why so many... yes... yes, of course. Where should I deliver ? You take care of the shipping ? Okay, no problem. It's pleasure. Have a nice day, Comrade."

The conversation finished, Al "Capone" Prinzmetal hangs up and comes to greet us. No, he's not a gangster at all, as I told you. We just call him like "Capone" because of the way he looks, with his Italian suit, his slicked black hair and his eternal big cigar.

"Excuse me, I was on a big deal. Scarlet, you look great !"

"What does it mean ? I thought I _always_ looked great !" she joked.

"Of course, you do."

He goes to kiss her on the cheeks. Nothing ever happened and nothing ever will between the two, simply because Mr Prinzmetal used to be so close to my father that Mom is like his sister. Then, he comes to kiss me.

"So, Violet, you're coming back from an expedition at Wonka Factory, aren't you ?"

"Yeah, that was fine."

He laughs. "I guess you'd rather go and see Connie than stay here with the old pals. Go ahead, she's in the basement. But, please, come for the tea."

"Don't worry," Mom says, "they will come, I baked some cookies."

"With nougat, I see... my favorites."

I let them talk and go for the basement. Once at the end of the staircase, I take off my shoes, as always, so as not to dirty the thick blue carpets that cover the floor. The mansion is so large, actually, that the basement was seen as an unnecessary space and entirely remade into a huge recreational area, huge and comfy, with thick carpets and wallpapers, sofas, bean bag chairs, old-fashioned lava lamps, hi-fi systems, and all the like. When you arrive in that basement, you make a step into an odd world, into the kitsch and somewhat attractive universe of the eighties. There are several different rooms gathered around a common lounge, one is for computers and video-games, there's also a movie room, an arcade hall, a billard room, and even a "girls only" room for Connie and her friends to have girl chats. You really need to see it to believe. God knows how many Sunday afternoon we spent in this little room, talking till the end of times...

I hear music coming from the computer room, so I head there. Connie and her brother, Fred, a skinny fellow with round glasses and a terribly thick mass of curly brown hair, are watching a concert on one of the computers. They greet me and invite me to join in with them, but I only watch absent-mindedly: it's a hard rock concert, with everything it takes, including motorcycles, pyrotechnics, leather, strass, shiny red or blue guitars and very loud riffs. I don't really like hard rock. Here, the singer is a tall and slender figure representing the weirdest gender mix ever, with long and rather feminine legs wrapped in shiny black leather leggings, slim but more male-looking torso and shoulders, covered with tatoos, long straight hair cut in a fringe, and a thin, beardless face that is too thin to be that of a guy, and not enough to be that of a girl. And I almost forgot the blue eyes and the voice that is like the face, impossible to determine. The worst is that, where you would expect some kind of freak, here it goes on so well together that you just can't decide if the singer is a guy or a girl.

"That's Sadie Perkins ?" I ask.

"Yep," Fred says, "the London concert last week. She just doesn't stop, here she finishes her Europe tour, and next year, the United States ! She's incredible."

"Are we supposed to say _he_ or _she_ ?"

"Depends," he says as he gives a look at his sister. "The guys prefer to say _she_, and the girls prefer to say _he_. Am I right, Connie ?"

"Oh, yeah..." she pauses as she sees I'm looking at her weirdly. "What ? Got to say he's hot !"

"Mmh, yeah, it's just hard to say someone's hot when you don't even know if they're guys or girls."

"Guess your Mom wouldn't mind the difference..."

"What did you say about my Mom, Fred ?"

"Nothing, I was just mumbling for nothing. You like ?"

"Not really. I'm no big fan of hard rock. But my neighbor is a fanatic, day and night. But it's not the same thing, he listens to harder things, like Fuel, Seether... I guarantee, waking up on_ this _at six in the morning, it's almost traumatizing."

We spend a good deal of time listening to some more songs and trying the treats I brought. Among other things, there are chocolate bars that keep changing taste after each bite, so that you never know what's coming next, popsicles that grow butterflies in your stomach, bubble-gum that makes solid bubbles that you can shape any form you want, and also three fully functional Everlasting Gobstoppers. Describing everything we tried would be much too long, but that was magic. I'll never get used to what Willy Wonka can do. Connie and Fred both fell in love with the Gobstoppers, whereas I prefer the "butterfly sicles". Then we have to go upstairs for the tea, which is a real torture because we have to sit politely and listen to a bunch of boring adult topics, including how Mom's business is doing, and what big contract is Mr Prinzmetal dealing with his new West-Asian clients, and on and on...

Eventually, Connie and I manage to sneak away and lock ourselves into the "girls only" room. Pink wall, soft cushions, slow r'n'b, exactly what we need for private talks. We seat comfortably and look for what's left in the candy box. She takes a chewing-gum. I go for a lollipop.

"You don't take chewing-gum anymore ?" she notices.

"No... I don't like gum as much as I used to."

"Since you fell sick in the Factory ?"

"Yep."

"So, tell me about that mysterious neighbor of yours. I don't know anything about him except he likes metal."

"You remember the blind guy I talked to, the other day ?"

"That's him ? He's not bad at all..."

"His name's Matt Murdock. He's a student at law."

"Matt Murdock ?"

"You sound like the name reminds you of something. You know him ?"

"No... it's just the name... it sounds very comic-book-like."

"Maybe, but he doesn't look like a comic hero at all."

"How is he ?"

"Very nice. A bit weird, but as Mom says, he's a New-Yorker, after all."

"I hope your Mom didn't freak him out like the other ones."

"She tried, but this time, she had what she wanted..."

"Wait, you don't mean that... you do ?"

I don't answer, but by the look in my eyes, she guessed it right.

"Oh my God," she exclaims, "that's... yuk !"

I tell her about what I found, the furry cuffs and all, and we both go on laughing, amused and disgusted at the same time. After a while, our laughters fade, and Connie turns serious again:

"What are you gonna do, now ?" she whispers gravely. I know of course that she's referring to my numerous defeats to train and beat Red Devil.

"I think I've tried everything I could. The next days are gonna be very, very hard, but I have no choice than to... stop. Now I'll study, be nice and get friends. Oh, Connie, I need you so bad !"

"What ?"

I think she's surprised to see genuine anguish in my eyes. That doesn't happen so often.

"I've never behaved like a normal girl before ! I'm scared of how it's gonna look like... will I make it ? Or maybe I'll just fail and remain anti-social forever ! I need you to teach me what to do ! You're a real girl, and I... well, I'm not really."

She smiles warmly. "Come on, of course you're a real girl ! You were born with all the stuff that goes with, that's all that matters."

I snigger. I really didn't see it this way !

"But that's okay, I'm gonna teach you a few things... first, let's talk about your clothes..."

"No way ! Sorry, Connie, but if you think of making me wear a skirt, stop it right now. I'm ready to learn, but don't touch my tracksuits !"

"Okay, tomboy, keep it cool ! Well, I guess we should begin with the most basic things..." she gives me an ironic smile. "Take off your socks..."

She gets up and goes for something. I'm getting worried. I didn't like that smile, and I think I know what she has in store for me. When she comes back, she's carrying a bottle of pink varnish and a magazine. I sigh. Exactly what I thought. I regret my request already.

"The most basic things," she says, "is to paint our toenails and gossip about the last news from _Star Magazine_."

It's so strange, but at this very moment... I get to think that I'd rather be kidnapped by the mafia than withstand this...

----------

The small room was dark and reeked of tobacco smoke. The gloomy, oppressive atmosphere of a crime boss's office. Typical. On the wall behind the large wooden desk, there was a large black flag bearing, written in white fancy Cyrillic letters, the words: _Zmeya Armiya_. Below these words, in the middle of the flag, the large white logo of the organization, the skull, the hammer and sickle, and the snake. Below again, two other words: _Bratva Kazakhstani_. Quite an arrogant title for their small crime syndicate. Small, but growing fast.

The boss was sitting behind his desk, on his favorite leather armchair. In the darkness, he was hardly visible, except for the glowing red dot of his cigarette. Members of the organization were standing around the desk, still, like militaries. Snake wasn't with them. For a syndicate like theirs to work, there had to be a strict discipline and hierarchy. Everyone had to know their place. And the mob's main executor's place wasn't here with them.

The gangsters waited respectfully until the boss finished serving the vodka in tiny glasses. That was the ritual, they couldn't begin a reunion before a drink of the traditional beverage. The boss put down the bottle, raised his own glass, and everyone followed.

"To the Party," he whispered. His men repeated in a choir, and they drank. Now, they could talk.

"I am satisfied with the way things are going," the boss said. "Racketeering local businesses is not a very glorious thing to do, but at least we get money fast. We need to strengthen up before we go into larger scale operation. Plus, now we have Mr Yamamoto on our side."

"Boss, can we trust him ?"

"He is Japanese, he will never fail to a given parole. Sense of honor is a beautiful thing. However, he will not be necessary at such an early time. Setting in Atlanta was a brilliant idea, this town is not under any rival syndicate, leaving our hands free. But he will sure be a precious ally in the future. Now, let us talk about our current issues... I hope we will soon obtain the release of our comrades Sultan and Jamila..."

"We have investigated, Boss. It seems that so far, they haven't talked."

"Good. They know the rule, after all, if they talk, we have them killed by the hour."

"But they are at a high risk to talk during their trial, if given the promise to avoid prison..."

"Yes, that's a risk that shall be avoided. The district attorney ?"

"George Senorm. Totally honorable, trying to corrupt him is a waste of time."

"Let me guess... middle-aged white Christian Republican straightass ?"

"Exactly."

"I love this country, people here are so predictible... does he have children ?"

"A thirteen-year-old daughter, Penny Senorm."

The boss immediately let out an uncontrolled laughter. His men watched him curiously, they didn't understand.

"None of you speak French, right ?" he asked. "If you ever knew what that name means in French... anyway, when is the trial going to begin ?"

"In three weeks."

"Then gather a special team and prepare the kidnapping of Miss Senorm. You will get her two days before the trial. No honorable man in the world can withstand having his child in danger, and we will force him to cooperate."

"Yes, Boss."

"Dimitri ? Can you remind me of the Golden Rule ?"

"Sure. _No children shall be seriously harmed by our actions, in any circumstances_."

"Good. Be sure to remember it with the young lady. We need to keep certain moral bases. That's what tells us apart from our Russian and Albanian comrades."

"We understand, Boss. Everything will be done according to your orders."

"Fine. Now, our second case. Piotr, would you please come closer ?"

The man called Piotr made a hesitant step forward. When the boss used so much politeness, it was never a good sign.

"Piotr, would you please explain us why you judged necessary to kill this poor grocer, last Wednesday ?"

"Boss, he wasn't willing to cooperate, and he was about to take something from under his counter. I thought it was a gun so I drew mine..."

"And what was it ? Under the counter ?"

"A baseball bat."

"Good. So you committed a murder, and therefore drew attention on us, only for a... baseball bat."

"I know, Boss. I fucked up."

"At least, you recognize your mistake. Fine, I give you a second chance. But now, there's going to be an inquest about this murder."

"We didn't leave anything behind, they will never know it was us."

"Except for a witness. A little girl, blond, in a white tracksuit."

"Shall we go for her, Boss ?"

"No. Remember the Golden Rule. Besides, she was coming out of Estelle Roddecker's club when it happened, and you know our policy concerning this lady... we do nothing about her, but let's keep watching the cops and make sure they don't get anywhere near us. And in the future, please be more careful. Understood, Piotr ?"

"Yes, Boss."

"That is all. Dismiss."

The men left the office in silence. It didn't go so bad, this time. The boss would usually go mad very easily. A woman entered when they were all out. She was a tall, beautiful brunette with scary cat-like eyes and unnaturally long, silvery nails. Miss Shekochit, the boss's secretary and personal assistant. Whether or not their relationship was more than professional had always been a main subject of wonder in the syndicate. Actually, very few people in the syndicate knew she preferred women.

"Good evening, Boss."

"How are you doing, Shekie ? Want a drink ?"

"No, thanks. I've got interesting news. From England."

"England ? We don't have any business in England ?"

"Not yet. But we may have an investor. A rich businessman is interested in an association with us."

"Undercover cop."

"That's what I first thought, so I took the initiative to check his background. I found no reason not to trust him."

"What business is he in ?"

"Nuts."

The boss chortled. "Nuts... maybe he wants to make a new brand of nut-based vodka. What kind of association does he want ?"

"He didn't go into details, he wants to treat with you directly. Basically, he is ready to put large funds in our organization for a fair share of the benefits, if in exchange we run a little trade for him. Passing commands to armament companies, ensuring shipping to England and falsifying papers, no big deal..."

"But big profits. Gun traffic is a risky, but very lucrative business. Get me in contact with this gentleman as soon as possible."


	8. Race With The Devil

_Monday, February 22nd._

Loud drums. Overdriven guitars. Shrieks. Last week, that would have pulled me out of bed in a start, but now, I just open my eyes and wake up calmly. I'm getting used to it, I guess. With a neighbor like Matt, you don't need an alarm clock anymore. I stand up, stretch, and go to open the window. I want some fresh air, even if it's a little too fresh for me. God ! I can't believe it's been a week already since I started school again. Since my Hell began. No, I shouldn't think this way. Think positive.

Still a little sleepy, I have breakfast, and don't lose any time to have my shower, put on that damn make-up, get dressed, and before I can realize it, I'm already out and walking to school. Geez, it's cold ! I rub my hands together and breathe into them to get warm as I walk. Looks like it's gonna be a bleak day. The sun's not arisen yet, or maybe it just can't break through the thick mass of purple clouds, and the only source of light seems to be the streetlamps reflecting on the snowy sidewalks. It's eerily silent. Winter feels like everything is dead... wait, what am I doing, I'm thinking like an emo ! Gosh, I really don't feel good... damn you, Red Devil, and damn you, the mafia !

There's more light now, as I reach the first buildings of the suburban area. A few shops are open, a bakery, a Starbucks, a diner... there's even a few cars passing by, must be guys who are not afraid of ice. Cold as it is, the roads must be slippery like soap. I squeeze my jacket as I pass by a newspaper parlor, and, something I never did before, I begin to absent-mindedly look at the headlines, and I even glance at girls' magazines. Oh, Connie, your girlyness is really rubbing off on me !

Then suddenly, I freeze in front of a local paper, and I even forget to breathe for a second. The front page has a picture of a small building in flames, with the headline: _Gang Wars !_

What is that ? I reach out and grab the paper. I just wanna read a paragraph:

_In the course of the week-end, several youth gangs from East Atlanta, already known by the authorities for store robberies and occasional drug dealings, have been savagely slaughtered gangland-style. The furious raid led with heavy firearms and explosives has caught the residents unaware and shocked before such an unusual outburst of violence, and only a few traumatized survivors were left among the teenagers' gangs. The group that perpetrated the attack remains unknown, but survivors claim they were highly trained and equipped killers, perhaps former militaries, and also they spoke a language that was identified as being "close to Russian". The police has so far refused to make any statement..._

A hand grabs me by the shoulder and practically pulls me out of my read. I turn round, ready to jump at the guy's throat, and I see they're actually three. Oh, Kevin, and Bill ! No problem, I know them. Three guys from the school, three lardass I used to call names like Big Mac or Quarter Pounder. To be honest, they don't look that fat, now, compared to Augustus. The third one, Brandon, is a skinny nerd who could be quite cute without those oversized specs of his. I open my mouth to say something nasty, but then I remember I'm supposed to be a nice girl now. So instead, I just say:

"Hi ! How'ya doing, guys ?"

"How we're doing ? Very well, thanks for asking."

They speak in an aggressive manner that doesn't please me much. They begin to come closer. What, they want to fight or something ?

"We've been looking for you, Violet. I've heard that you've been thrown into a dumpster by Devil. Did it feel good to be among your peers ?"

"Hey, shut up now, or I..."

"Or you what ? You ask Devil to get us for you ? Face it, Violet, you're nothing, now, you're just a piece of shit ! Remember when you called us Quarter Pounder ? Time to pay !"

I see Bill raise his big fist in front of my face, and I immediately prepare to block the move and hit back when...

_Bang !_

A hand in a red leather glove grabs Bill by the head, from behind, and smacks him against the wall. Kevin has no time to see what's going on when he gets knocked down by a motorcycle helmet straight into his head. As for Brandon, the last one standing prefers to run away.

"_Criss de Tabarnac _!" Terrance shouts. "I can't even buy a magazine without having a bunch of _mouches à marde_ to swat ! I'm the only one here who has the right to torture this girl, you get me ?"

That's always impressive how the charisma provided by his tall figure and his super-cool red suit instantly fades away as soon as he opens his mouth and you hear his awful accent. The two knocked guys quickly get up and run away too. Terrance looks at me:

"You okay ?"

That makes me boil with rage. He makes me look like a damsel in distress !

"What are you doing here ? I could have dealt with them alone, I didn't need your help !"

He sniggers. "Oh,_ciboire_, I would have loved to see you using your useless Chop Sockey techniques against them ! Would be a great laugh !"

The good thing with make-up is that he can't see me blush, but my anger is still at max. I clench my fists, I want to punch him, but I know he would make me kiss the snow if I tried. Be a normal girl, bear with all his teasing, don't fight back, and give him his money. That's the Connie Prinzmetal way to survive.

"Okay," I sigh, "I suppose you want something... I don't have much, are three dollars gonna do it ?"

"What ? Na, I don't need no money today, I got my magazines, so that's cool."

I give a curious look at the pair of books he's holding in his hand. I frown:

"_Penthouse_ ? _Barely Legal _? But that's..."

"The articles are interesting."

"Are you _sure_ you read that stuff only for the articles ?"

He sighs, embarrassed. "You want to receive a boot in the nose ?"

"No, that's cool. Excuse me."

Shit ! There was my mother, Matt, and now him ! Disgusting ! Is there only one person around who doesn't think about... apart from Willy Wonka, of course. And believe me, Mom tried, that was obvious even for me. I look at Terrance as he puts on his helmet - really becoming Red Devil here - and climbs on his bike. How the Hell can he ride a sportsbike with all this ice ?

"That's lots of training," he says as if he read in my thoughts. "Winters in Montréal are much worse than that. I got used to. Want a ride ?"

I step back, sensing something wrong.

"Okay," I say, "where's the trick ?"

"What ?"

"You beat me up, throw me in a dumpster, steal my money, humiliate me, and now you offer me to ride me to school ? I'm not so naïve, Red Devil, so where's the trick ?"

"There's no trick or trap. It's just that a villain can't be evil seven days a week. Consider this is my day off."

On the street a few meters from us, a black car arrives pretty fast and brakes noisily and goes to slide out of control to finally stop in front of a mail box it has almost run over.

"Wow," the masked Canadian exclaims, "somebody had a big fright over there ! So, you climb on or what ?"

"I guess so... but you'd better be warned, if it's a date you're looking for, I'm not interested."

He laughs. "Blondie, you'll never interest me, unless you grow thirty centimeters taller and get to look like Sadie Perkins. Let's get on, will ya ?"

Hesitantly, I take a grip on his shoulders to seat behind him.

"Please be careful, I'm not too found of motorbikes..."

"Don't worry, I'll just take a shortcut and ride smoothly."

----------

"Stop here ! Stop !"

"What ?"

Snake didn't really have time to wait for an answer, as by reflex his foot crushed the brake pedal as soon as he heard his comrade's shouting. But, as an emergency brake on ice is sure not the best idea in the world, the car drifted and slewed round in a joy dance of tyre screeches, while the driver and his three passengers - two bulky men and a very young, almost teenage red-haired woman - were shaken like in a rollercoaster gone wild. Finally, the car stopped damageless a few inches away from a mail box. They all sighed. Even Snake almost had a heart attack, this time. It was a chance that they were driving a Mercedes. If they had done this drift on a Kazakh road with a Kazakh car, they would be dead.

"What's it, Adam ?" Snake hissed, made slightly angry by the incident.

"The girl, over there ! Look !"

The young man gave a look in front, and he saw her. Standing on the opposite sidewalk, about twenty meters from them. She was wearing a different tracksuit, a pink one, with a big yellow jacket, but he recognized her platinum blond page-boy hairstyle and her small stature. The girl who saw the grocer's murder.

"Yes," he said, "it's her."

"So what are we waiting for ?" the redhead girl asked. "Let's get her !"

"_Niet_, Nitara. Our mission today is to spy Miss Senorm, this girl is of no interest to us."

"But she saw us !" the girl insisted. "We should at least follow her and get some info, just in case. We got all day for Miss Senorm."

Snake thought for a short moment. "Okay, this works. But remember, pals, I want absolute discretion !"

"Who's that boy she's talking to ? Her boyfriend ?"

"Oh, this guy ? Na, he's just a little prick who terrorizes the kids around. Red Devil, his name is. _Krasnaya Dyavol _! Here's a boy who doesn't fear ridicule, with such a name !"

His companions let out a few sniggers, and the man called Adam came closer to the driver to whisper something in his ear:

"But, seriously, doesn't she remind you of someone ? I think it was late January, the woman you met at the bar..."

Snake's eyes widened. "You mean that blond chick who... yeah, you're right ! Maybe it's her daughter... funny coincidence."

"What was her name, again ?"

"Belgrade or something like that ? I dunno... we were both too drunk to remember."

"Hey," Nitara shouted, "they're going away !"

Indeed, the red motorcycle was leaving the sidewalk and riding through the street at speed. Snake didn't lose any time and pumped the pedal to start in a drift _à la _Mad Max. The bike was almost out of sight already. Good thing there was virtually no traffic: the Kazakh sped up over legal limit, and slightly over his own limit too, cause with all this ice, he felt the car trembling insecurely, he knew he could lose control by the second.

He was back behind the bike, now. He slowed down, trying to keep a safe distance and look as normal as possible. They didn't need to suspect something. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, the kids took a turn on the right and disappeared !

Shit ! The Kazakh braked and turned the wheel, causing another slew-round, but this time he had seen it come, engaged reverse in the middle of the drift and put the car back in its trajectory before he drove back forward. The operation had been flawless, but this acrobatic turn and all the tyre screeches that went with must have attracted the kids' attention. Dammit !

Nevermind, Snake told himself, let's continue. The bike was still in sight, but it seemed to be going faster, so now they were really suspecting something ! Snake sped up and drove as good as he could, taking numerous turns through the narrow streets of the suburbs. That kid was suicidal to take such streets with this weather ! There was barely enough space to manoeuver, and don't talk about the ice ! The thrill ride continued for a good five minutes, and one of the Kazakh men almost fell sick, when finally, after having bumped into countless trash bins and mail boxes, Snake saw the bike slow down and stopp, and he did the same, still keeping a safe distance.

"Oh, damn..." Snake whispered as he lit up a Sobranie. "That boy is fuckin' insane !"

Outside, Violet was jumping off the bike and talking with her driver. From the car, the crooks saw the two kids throw anxious glances at them. They needed not worry about being recognized: all the windows and the windshield were tinted black.

"Okay, I think I got it when you talked about absolute discretion," Nitara commented. "Very stealth we've been, yeah, like a ninja !"

"Tara, if you don't shut up now, I'll do you ass-piercing with your own teeth. Got it ? So, where are we ?"

"That's a school," Adam commented. "Wait a minute..."

He opened the glove box and produced a sheet of paper he read.

"Funny coincidence, this is Penny Senorm's school."

"Interesting. Gonna be easier to watch them both, now. Try to get that girl's name, but don't forget, we're supposed to look after Penny and Penny only, so don't touch her, don't do anything. After our little cleaning operation this week-end, we need to keep a low profile until the trial. Just get some info, and wait for orders. Understood ?"

"Sure, but what are we gonna do, now we're spotted ?"

"We'll dissipate doubts. Trust me."

And on these words, Snake engaged the first speed and moved to park just beside the red motorcycle.

----------

When I finally climb out of that machine from Hell that dares call itself a bike, I can hardly believe I am still alive. This had been a crazy ride, and all on the ice ! I thought the bike would fall at each turn. And that's what he called "riding smoothly" ! I can barely stand on the sidewalk and I'm shaking all over, my teeth are playing castanets. And it's not only for the fright. I'm cold, terribly cold. I feel like a Mr Freeze with blond hair on top.

"Well," I stammer, "th-th-thank you f-f-f-or the ride."

"You're welcome," he says, looking at me through his helmet, and to be honest I find it a little creepy to talk to a guy whose face I can't see. "I always enjoy having a scared chick behind when I ride."

"You're a sadist..."

"Oh, big words ! But you enjoyed it, didn't ya ? Had a thrill..."

He looks at the black car parked behind us. Oh, yeah, that car... it's been following us since we left the newspaper stand, and for tailing it's as stealth as a drunk elephant in a china shop. I shiver. I know this car just too well, but so far I haven't seen any face to relate to. It's like a ghost haunting me. The mob. They found me, again, and now they're here to finish me, they're gonna put my feet in concrete 'slippers' and drown me in the Chattahoochee River. That's how it happens in almost every gangster movie. I'm suddenly very glad that Red Devil is standing beside me at this moment.

"I guess he had his thrill too," he finishes.

"No, he looks like he's stalking us. That's creepy..."

Oh, c'mon, who do you want it to be ? A psycho or something ? Na, paranogirl, it's just a bored guy with a very cool car looking for a race."

On his words, the car slowly moved to park beside us, on the road. I freeze. Now, they're gonna open a window, draw a gun, and shoot us both dead. But no, that's not how it happens. The creepy car just stands here and makes its motor roar with impatience, as calling for a challenge.

"See ?" Devil says, and by the tone of his voice, I guess he's smiling behind his helmet. "Guess I'm gonna have fun on my way to school ! But before I go, I'd better tell ya why I offered you a ride. You like Penny Senorm a lot, don't ya ?"

"You're kidding ? I can't stand her !"

"Me neither, that's why I want you to do me a favor..."

He searches his pocket and produces a folded piece of paper he gives me.

"What's in this paper ?"

"The horrible truth behind our friend's name. Make good use of it."

The black car's engine roars even louder.

"Okay !" Devil shouts as he looks at it. "I'm in for the race ! Ten dollars ?"

The black-tinted passenger's window opens slightly, just enough to let a hand come out, fist closed with two fingers up - and I'm relaxed to see it has no dreadful bague.

"Twenty ?" Devil asks, surprised. "Man, you got money to lose ! Let's get it on, then !"

He starts the bike and makes his own engine roar, then he looks back at me:

"Oh, by the way..."

And without warning, he gives me a sharp punch in the shoulder, making me groan with pain.

"Why did you do that ?"

"So that you won't get too attached. We're still enemies, don't forget. I'm friendly today, I won't be tomorrow."

"You... you know what you are ? You're just a damn Canadian assh..."

The end of my phrase is drowned in the furious roars of engines as Devil and his mysterious competitor in the Mercedes disappear from my sight. Street race, what the Hell ! I understand why everyone calls him Red Devil ! Though, from what I saw he's so suicidal he'd better be called DareDevil or a name like that.

Now alone, I turn round and walk into the school, finally into a warm place, when I finally decide to unfold that paper. There's something written. I read. Thunderstruck, I hold my breath and read again. I just can't believe it. I read again, and when a prefect passes beside me, I can hardly control a hysteric laughter. He gives me a weird look but goes on his way. I eventually crack up in the lobby, laughing so hard my throat hurts, and when Connie arrives, I'm still laughing like a mad girl. You know what ? If I have enough free time, I think I'll take French lessons. What I read on this paper has convinced me it really is a wonderful language.

----------

"Have you finished reading my notes in History ?" Connie asks as we settle at a table to have lunch, after a hard morning of work.

"Yeah, but you'll have to explain me a few things I didn't quite get."

"No problem."

She opens her very discreet lunch box and has a bite in her sandwich.

"So," she asks, "how are you doing ?"

"You know what ? It's not that easy to be a normal girl. I can even say it feels quite... weird... and difficult. I caught myself watching magazines, this morning. And then I met Quarter Pounder. You know, Fat Bill. He was mad at me and wanted to kick my ass. That's got to be the first time ever I've forced myself not to fight."

She smiles. "I'm proud of you, but... he didn't hit you, did he ?"

"No... someone arrived right on time..."

"Who ? Your weird neighbor ?"

"No... Terry."

"What, Red Devil ? He saved you ?"

"Don't say that ! No, let's just say he gave me a hand... and me look like a helpless chick !"

"Oh, come on, don't worry about that. You know, you don't need to go from an extreme to the other. I don't want you to become a dork. You're strong, and it's good to show it, but not to abuse it and bully people, like you used to do. Just be strong and sociable, do some sport with the school, for example !"

I smile. "Actually, I was thinking of joining the basketball team."

"Oh, really ? Funny, I thought you might prefer tennis or something like that. You're not really into team sports."

"Yeah, I know, but... I just wanna try."

Something in my voice must have alerted her, cause she raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Is this the _only_ reason ?"

"What's that supposed to mean ?"

"Isn't there a boy in the story ?"

"Oh, crap ! How did you guess ?"

"Girl instinct."

"Okay... it's about Brownie."

"Brownie ? The British ?"

"Well, yeah, he..."

I smile shyly and look over her shoulder. He's here, a few tables in front of me, eating with his friends. Tall and slender, athletic, tanned, with clear eyes and a cute bush of golden hair. Bronson Roarke is his real name, but everyone calls him Brownie. The basketball team's captain. Needless to say he's pretty popular around.

"He's cute," I finish. "Never noticed before, but when he's around, I..."

Someone interrupts me and pushes me in the back. I turn round to face Penny.

"Oh, I'm sooo sorry," the bitch sneers, "I didn't see you... what am I saying ! You're so ridiculously worthless I didn't even notice you exist, VCB !"

She sneers louder, her laugh screeches in my ears as pleasantly as a nail running on a chalkboard. Still as bitchy as ever... before, this would have been enough for me to explode and jump at her throat, but this time I stay calm and even smile, for I have a secret weapon that will hurt much more than a punch or a kick.

"What's wrong ?" I ask with fake gentleness. "You didn't find any big dick today, Miss Penny Senorm ?"

Her laughter stops dead right away. I look at her, straight in the eyes, and what I see is a look of terror. That's enjoyable. She turns livid, all her snotty confidence smashed to pieces. It worked. And it's wonderful.

"No," she says, panicked, almost on the edge of tears. "Not that ! You're not fair, Violet !"

"What ? What's the problem ? Everyone knows you're just a big dick, Penny Senorm. Big dick ! Penny Senorm !"

"Stop it !" She yells.

Suddenly, the whole hall falls silent, everyone is watching the school's most obnoxious girl (after me) going insane. And I bet they're taking a certain pleasure from it.

"Stop it ! Everyone laughed at me in Canada because of that ! Oh, I bet it's Terrance who told you ? He's an asshole ! And you, you're just a cruel bitch !"

I answer the exact words I heard from her very mouth, a few days ago: "So what ? You're gonna punch me ? Go ahead, everyone's waiting. Show everyone how weak you are, picking on a weaker kid just because you got owned and punished by the Devil. You're pathetic."

She does burst in tears, now. It's almost pitiful to see. After all, it's as if I killed her. I discovered her darkest secret, a ridiculous name, and in middle school, there's hardly anything more embarrassing than a ridiculous name. Everyone will laugh at her forever, now, she will never be taken seriously again. I made her fall. And I'm too busy enjoying revenge for my past humiliation to feel any mercy.

She runs away from the hall when everyone begins to laugh. That's when I understand what big step I made: before, with all that VCB stuff, everyone was laughing at me. Now, they're laughing _with_ me. I didn't win the war yet, but I won a battle.

Around me, kids are howling Penny's name like a pack of wolves, among the jeerings and sneerings. I let them have their fun and sit back at the table, in front of Connie who's getting red from laughing.

"Great job !" she exclaims.

"Thanks. You'll never know how good it feels."

Someone arrives beside me as I prepare to eat my sandwich in peace. I lift up my head to meet the metallic smile of Randa Chellini. The classic nerd she is: braces, freckles, big specs, a messy ponytail, not very pretty and not very confident. The kind of girl who smiles at everyone, trying to get along with them, never to avail. I remember how many times I used to mock her. That was cruel and stupid of me. She's nice, actually, she doesn't deserve that.

"Uh, hi, Violet ! I was wondering... can I sit with you for lunch ?"

I don't hesitate one second: "Sure, go ahead."

I never thought I would one day invite Randa at my table, and be happy to have her here. Things change...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sorry this one's a pretty short chapter. Truth is, I have tons of ideas but it's terribly messy in my head, and it may take time for me to put things in order before I can go on properly, so I wanted to post this chap to let you know I'm still alive and continuing this story. Thank you for reading.


	9. Midnight Skyway

You know what's the best part of a math class ? When it's over. When the bell rings at last, putting an end to two hours of mental torment, and you grab your backpack, throw your books in it, and dash out of the room, ignoring the boring middle-aged bald teacher's order to go out with calm, just to be the first one to enjoy some fresh air. Outside !

Okay, to be honest, at five in the evening, the fresh air is a little too chilly and the dusk already setting makes the whole scene kind of bleak. But still, I guess that for every kid, even in Alaska, the end of a schoolday looks like a summer night in the Carribeans. Wow, maths make me poetic...

I hear Connie ask something, and I have to make her repeat, for my brain feels like a Chinese soup of ideas without any noodle to put them together:

"I said: you wanna hang round for a while ? I feel like having a milk-shake or something."

I can't hold back a yawn as I answer: "Sure. After, we can do our homework at my house."

Randa passes beside us. "Hey, Randa," I ask, "wanna come with us ?"

And here we are, the three of us, on our way for a drink. You know, I think I can become good friend with Randa, in the end. We had a chat during lunch, and I discovered we weren't that different: we both like Madonna, we both like playing _Mortal Kombat _and we're both fans of _Malcolm in the Middle_. It really is a shame we didn't become friends sooner.

We make our way out of the school and walk down the street when I see it. Again. That creepy black car. Parked right in front of us, engine stopped. With the black windows, I can't tell if there's anyone inside, but I can see the bumper is slightly damaged from a collision with a mail box and there's no doubt it's the same car. Again. They're stalking me !

"Is there a problem, Violet ? Why did you stop ?"

"I... I think we should take another way."

"What's wrong ?"

"Connie... that black car... I've seen it this morning, and now it's here again. I think it's following me."

She looks at me for a second, and then begins to laugh. I get angry:

"Stop it ! I'm not kidding !"

Randa, not at ease, says nothing, but Connie is not impressed at all:

"Following you ? C'mon, don't be silly ! Who would want to stalk you ?"

"Then how do you explain that car is always here ?"

"It's not, you're just imagining things. Here, I'll show you."

She grabs my arm. Wait ! What is she doing ? Before I can protest, she's dragging me towards the car. What the Hell !

"Connie, you're crazy ! Let's go away !"

I protest, but quite oddly I don't struggle to break free and follow her reluctantly. I think that, even though I'm afraid, she's doing something I have always wanted to do, and that's why I follow her. Randa, still silent and embarrassed, walks beside us while trying to keep a safe distance.

We stand in front of the driver's door, and Connie gently taps on the black window. Oh, I so want to go away, now ! I throw nervous glances right and left, expecting a group of thugs to appear out of nowhere and push us inside the car. But no, the window slowly opens, letting us see the passengers inside: three men and a girl, and not really the kind of people you would approach to sell cookies. The driver has a bague on his finger, over his glove, and that is the first thing I notice: the familiar spooky snake/skull/hammer and sickle jewel. The glove is only one part of all his tight-fitting leather garments, and to make the picture clear, just look at Alice Cooper, he's dressed the same way. Though he's much more handsome, and I even catch myself thinking he's too handsome to be a crook, with his slender body, his pale, narrow, beardless face and his dark neck-long hair slicked back. He must be in his mid twenties. There is some kind of... can I say 'magnetism' ? I'm not sure, but I know that, when our glances meet, as he silently considers me with his cold, almond-shaped eyes - and, wait, his eyes are yellow ?! - I just can't look away, and more, I have a feeling that I have already seen him somewhere, though I can't remember. I don't know how long the eye contact lasted, long enough to make my legs quiver in anxiety.

"Yes ?" the young crook finally says. "What can I help you with ?"

"Uh... hi !" Connie tries to improvise, rather awkwardly. "Sorry to disturb you, I and my friends have a community service asignment, and we're raising money for the school, for..."

"For the homeless !" Randa finishes.

"Yes, that's it, for the homeless !"

In response, the boy looks directly at me and says: "We've already lost twenty bucks to your boyfriend today, so why don't you go ask him instead, blondie ?"

Vexed, I'm about to reply he's not my boyfriend when the big guy on the passenger seat mumbles something in an unknown language, and after giving looks towards the school, they start the engine and drive away without saying good-bye.

"Ouch !" Connie exclaims. "They're kind of rude !"

"Yes..." I reply absent-mindedly, thinking of what I just saw: they drove away because they saw something more interesting. That means they weren't stalking me... they were after someone else. But who ? Something wrong is going on around here, something terribly wrong...

----------

Finally, we had our milk-shake, and it's a little more relaxed that we leave the diner and go on our way to my house. We pass in front of a Catholic church, desert at this hour, our minds preparing for the homework we're about to do, even if none of us wants to. Right now, I have Connie explain me all the things I didn't get - basically, everything - in the history lesson:

"And then, in 1917, the French had a new Prime Minister who they had already elected before, and he was... wait, what's the name again ? Crap, I can never remember, the French all have impossible names !"

"It's Georges Clémenceau."

The answer came from a male voice behind us. We turn round to meet my neighbor.

"Hey, Matt ! How'ya doing ?"

"Fine, I was just about to go home."

I turn to the church. The way he appeared behind us, it's obvious he was coming out of it.

"You're a Catholic ?"

"Yep. I know I'm supposed to go on Sunday, but I prefer to pray when there's no-one else. It's calmer, more silent... anyway, how's it for you ? Studying history ?"

"Yeah, we're trying. Oh, by the way, I don't think you know my friends: here's Connie and Randa."

"Nice to meet you. What do you mean, 'trying' ?"

"I don't understand anything. That's a catastrophe."

"Oh... I happen to be quite good at history myself, maybe I could give you a hand. Wanna hang round at my place ?"

----------

"You have some music ?" Randa asks.

She's quite right, we've been sitting in his living room for nearly an hour, doing our homework while eating Pringles and drinking soda, and so far the only music we've had is the ticking of Matt's special Braille typewriter. But it's not at all boring, on the contrary, we've been chatting and having good laughs as we finished our history lessons, and now we're attacking maths, a subject Matt is unfortunately helpless with. On his side, he's re-typing a whole paper about the Constitution, something I didn't quite get cause it's riddled with legal jargon. He said that's why he's glad to have us here with him, cause it's utterly boring.

"Excellent idea," he says as he gets up and stretches. "Whoa, I tell ya, girls: if you wanna become lawyers, make sure you know what you're doing, and I hope you can withstand headaches. At least, I can't wear my eyes out reading, that's already an advantage."

He goes to the hi-fi and begins to check his CDs. "I have Seether, Fuel, Zebrahead, Iron Maiden, Papa Roach, Sadie Perkins, Breaking Benjamins..."

I sigh. "I suppose you don't listen to Madonna ?"

"Not really."

"Well, Sadie Perkins will do just fine, then."

He puts the CD on and goes to fetch more soda before he comes back to sit in front of his typewriter. That's quite amusing, I notice, he seems to move which much more ease when there's music, as if the noise gave him back some of his sight.

"Okay, uh, where was I ?" he mumbles as, with the tips of his fingers, he slowly caresses the rough paper riddled with holes and dots he's been writing on. He's _reading_. That's kind of strange.

"How does it work ?" I ask.

"You wanna read Braille ? Here, come closer."

I go to sit beside him as Connie and Randa also come closer to watch. Following his instructions, I close my eyes and reach out for the tips of my fingers to touch the paper.

"Can you feel all the dots and holes under your fingers ?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now let me explain: a character, also called a cell, is composed of six spots arranged in dots and holes depending on the letter. For example, an A is one dot at the top left of a cell. You get it ?"

"Not quite..."

"Then we'll go slowly. Just follow the paper and tell me what you feel at each cell, and I'll tell you what letter it is."

It takes us a good deal of time, reading the same phrase over and over again, but eventually, I begin to remember the code and identify letters by my own. The sensation is quite amusing: I read with my fingers !

"Looks like you're starting to read it good !"

"I guess so... but that's difficult."

"Can you read the phrase, now ?"

"I'll try... _A well... r... reg... reg-u-la-ted mil-li-tia bing... no, be-ing..._"

"_A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed_. That's the Second Amendment. Though, in terms of stupidity, it comes first."

"You're not a fan of guns, are you ?"

"Not at all. The only things legal guns can do today is pushing twist-minded citizens out in the streets, encouraging street vigilantism and violence against violence. As if we had not enough problems already. Oh, I hope none of you likes guns ?"

"No, that's alright."

"Okay. I'm sorry, I tend to speak in a very harsh manner, sometimes, and my teachers hate that."

We continue for some more time until Connie and Randa are to leave. It's pretty late, actually, I'll soon have to go for dinner.

"Violet ? Can I talk to you ?"

"Why, sure..."

I'm hesitant. He sounds pretty serious.

"Well, I didn't want to ask when your friends were around, but now we're alone... it's just that... I've noticed you don't look... you don't _sound_ so good. So, I wanted to know if there's a problem you'd like to talk about."

"No... everything's alright, really. What makes you think I don't feel good ?"

"Your heart beats faster than normal and your breathing is irregular, that's two main clues to tell that you feel distressed. I have an excellent audition. But I may be wrong, in this case I'm sorry..."

"No, it's... just... well, you're right, I have quite a lot of problems these days. Things I don't want Mom to know about."

"Boy problems ?"

"No, more serious than that."

"You wanna talk ?"

"No... sorry, I don't feel like talking about this."

"I understand. But, just remember that, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"I'll remember. Thanks..."

"By the way, you're quite athletic, aren't you ?"

"Well, yeah, I'm pretty good."

"Do you have a mask ?"

"A mask ? Like a Halloween mask ?"

"No, a ski mask or something like that."

"Oh, well yeah, I got one. Why ?"

He gives me a mysterious smile and says:

"If you want me to show you a cool way to relieve stress, come here Wednesday, after dinner, with dark clothes and a mask. I bet you'll love it."

----------

Miss Shekochit considered the two people standing before of her, in this eerie concrete basement she was in, as the secret passage automatically shut down behind her. She could still hear soft r'n'b music coming from the shop above. In front of her, in the dim light, there was a simple but tough metal door, bearing no inscription whatsoever, just a piece of raw steel with a handle. The door looked so unimpressive in fact, that anyone who saw it would believe it was the janitor's closet or something as trivial... if it wasn't for the sinister couple guarding it. The redhead girl, Nitara, was in her early twenties, she was still almost a child, but that was only a better way to deceive her opponents. A newcomer in the syndicate, she was an immigrant freshly arrived from the motherland, and was first meant to work for them as a prostitute, but she managed to prove her usefulness when she handled five men in a fight, bare hands, during the gang-sweeping operations of the last week-end. So instead of wasting her talent in a brothel, she became a low-ranking enforcer for the syndicate. Actually, the Boss was quite happy with this because, raised by his father in the old Soviet moral principles, he was not too fond of "flesh trading" and did it only because their syndicate was still young and in need for money. But Miss Shekochit did not like this new blood: Nitara was arrogant and uselessly aggressive, which was quite a shame, the lady thought, for she was a gorgeous girl.

The mountain of muscles that stood beside her was a different story. His Kazakh name was difficult to pronounce, but it would translate as Cerberus, and that's the name that suited him best. Seven and a half feet tall, his chest was large as a car and his biceps were as big as his bald head that almost touched the ceiling. Cerberus did not have a precise rank in the syndicate. A former weightlifter and wrestler from Almaty, he had been recruited as the Boss's personal bodyguard because of his out-of-common strength that compensated for his lack of military experience. He would never go out on a mission, his job consisting solely of what his name implied: guarding the door of the Boss's office. It was an acknowledged fact among the Comrades that the strongest of them was Vassily, the former GRU operative who now worked as a high-ranking enforcer, or "officer", to use a more conventional term, but in terms of sheer physical strength, Cerberus was maybe even stronger.

Usually, anyone who desired to enter the office was subjected to searches, but the two guards knew there was no need to worry about Miss Shekochit, the most respected member of the syndicate, the Boss's personal secretary, the one who, if they were Italians, would be called _consigliere_, the counsellor, the Boss's most intimate subordinate. Therefore, they just gave her a brief salute and opened the door for her.

The inside of the office was even darker than the outside, but it had always been like that. Dark, and quite empty, for there was only the big wooden desk with its leather armchair facing the door, with the syndicate's black flag behind, a large Kazakh flag on the right wall, and on the left wall, an imposing portrait of a slender, handsome but severe-looking man in a Red Army uniform. General Stoyanovitch, this man was, the very creator of their organization. Miss Shekochit had known him well, for she had been his counsellor in the past, when he founded the syndicate in Tselinograd in the early nineties. When he died, three years ago, his son, though terribly young, took over and, striving to realize his father's last wish, worked like a madman to finally manage to settle the syndicate here, in Atlanta, in the heart of "the enemy territory". Such a deed had forever earned him the respect of the elder Comrades and he had absolute, unquestioned power over the organization.

Usually, he was to be found sitting on his armchair, smoking a cigarette, but when the lady entered, it was to find him standing in the middle of the room, his eyes shut and his muscles tensed, in a state of near meditation. In front of him were two piles of heavy books, going up to his waist, supporting a large pebble, of about the size and shape of a pancake but twice thicker, between them.

"Uh, Boss ?"

"Go on," he murmured without moving, "I'm listening."

"Okay, then... can I... know what you are up to ?"

"At the peak of his career, Grandmaster Masutatsu Oyama was able to slice a pebble in two with his bare hands. Knowing that the pebble is one of the densest common stones, I would like to know how he did this."

"So... you... you intend to slice this pebble with your bare hands ?"

"Very precisely."

Of course, having been raised by a military, the Boss was a martial art expert and a very mighty man, but trying to accomplish such an exploit was perhaps the most foolish thing the counsellor had ever heard, and she had heard a lot of things.

"I'm gonna ask Nitara to bring band-aids..."

"That will not be necessary. I know what I'm doing... ready... steady..."

Slowly, he raised his hand, palm upwards, and gathered all his strength in it. His arm began to tremble under the tension. And then, letting out a bursting expiration, he brought his hand down at the speed of light and striked the stone like a hammer. There was a loud crack. Something had broken. And it was not the pebble. The Boss remained supernaturally calm, though, and acted as if it never happened:

"What did you come here for, by the way ?"

"Oh, I was just bringing news from our investigation team at the Senorms."

The woman produced a few papers from her purse and went to put them on the desk.

"Infos about their whereabouts, there may be a few useless things, but..."

"What I need most for now is Penny's school planning, to know the exact hours she leaves. It will soon be quite annoying if we're to have a car always parking by the school, all day, just to wait for her."

"Sure, I'll see what we can do. By the way, about our trade in England, I have received a call from our supplier: the whole purchase will take months to be fully honored, but there are two prototypes ready to be sent to our customer in three weeks. Our customer already informed us that we would be paid for the transport, one hundred thousand dollars per unit."

"Considering the purchase is of seventy units, that means seven million dollars in a year. Excellent for a start ! Continue as planned."

"On my way..."

She prepared to leave when he called her back:

"And, Shekie ?"

"Yes ?"

"Please ask Nitara to bring some band-aids."

----------

_Wednesday, February 24th._

"Good night, Mom !"

"Good night, sweetheart ! Hey, wait a minute: you go to bed quite early tonight..."

"Yeah, I'm a little tired."

"Okay, then sleep well."

She's not suspecting anything. Great ! That is to say, even if it's only nine and I usually don't go to sleep before ten, I just come out of the bathroom, with blue skin and pajamas. How in the world could she suspect me to go out or something ? Well, bad luck, cause that's exactly what I'm doing. Yep, tonight, I'm going out.

I lock myself up in my room. I just hope she won't want to come and kiss me good night, but normally that should be okay. Nervous as a kid on a Christmas morning, I remain in front of the door for a few minutes, and then, quivering, I begin to change clothes. I've been waiting all day for this moment ! I don't know what Matt has in store for me, but judging by his mysterious tone, it must be something thrilling. That's exactly what I need, now: something pleasant and thrilling, to forget all the frights and humiliations I have gone through since I came back to school. Only a week ! And when I think I've got to withstand that for a few years again... no, don't think about that. Tonight, I just want to have fun. My heart beats too fast as I put on a dark grey tracksuit, as he asked, with a jumper underneath: the night is chilly, and if he asked for specific clothes, then it must be something to do outside. Wait, thinking about it... dark clothes and a ski mask ? Are we going to play ninjas or something ? I don't know, but the very idea makes me all excited. I put on two pairs of socks - it's really cold outside - and a pair of black high-top sneakers. I make sure I don't forget to put the mask in my pocket, and then I glance at a pair of black woolen gloves, to finally decide to put them on too. You never know, I wouldn't like to have to explain mom why I have frostbitten hands, tomorrow.

When I'm sure I have everything ready, I open my window and let a chill pass through my spine. My God it's cold ! I hesitate, thinking about my blue face, but as Matt is blind, he sure won't notice. Besides, if I'm supposed to wear a mask, that means I won't have to interact with people much. That's decided, I go like that: I jump out of the house and make it quick to Matt's door.

I knock at the door but no-one replies. Hesitantly, I try to push it and see it's open. I get in. It's eerily silent at first, and I'm not much at my ease, but as I get into the living room, I hear a muffled voice from the kitchen. That's his voice. I'm relieved. He's here, he must be on the phone, that's all. I creep closer to hear. Don't ask. Girl curiosity, that's all.

"Yeah," I hear, "crazy. Crazy, kind of like Sharon Stone in _Basic Instinct_. No, she doesn't kill, but almost. Na, I'm not kidding you, this girl is totally nuts, you need to see it to believe ! She must be, like, twice my age, and we barely know each others that she already takes the first occasion to... I know it sounds hard to believe, but that's the truth ! Man, you'll never imagine what she can do with six bottles of milk and a diapason..."

He suddenly appears in the doorway, right before me, and I gasp in surprise, quite foolishly because, after all, he couldn't see me... but now, he heard me, and he's quick to finish his conversation:

"And a... and... and I gotta leave you cause I have a guest... no, just a friend. Okay, I call ya later. Bye, Foggy."

He hangs up and wishes me good evening. He's dressed in a black tracksuit, in a similar manner as I am, except for the red cane in his hand. He's not wearing his glasses this time, and his empty eyes seem to be staring at me and give me spooks.

"Can I ask you a question ?" I say. "You heard me come, but how did you guess it was me and not somebody else ?"

"Easy, I recognized your perfume. Blueberry pie. Quite an unusual - and sweet - smell."

"Yeah, but it's not as if I chose it..."

"What ?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. So, are you ready for a thrill ?"

"Yeah ! I've been waiting for that all day ! So what are you up to ?"

"Gonna show you one of my passions. But you want a drink, first ?"

"No, that's okay."

"Okay," he smiles. "Follow me."

We walk out of the house, as he produces a very long black bandana from his jacket and wraps it around his head, as if blindfolding himself, and by the time we're outside, his whole head except for the mouth and the lower jaw is masked by the black fabric. I can't hold back an amused giggle:

"You know, with that thing on your head, you look like some comic-book ninja."

"Thanks, I take that as a compliment. You got your mask, too ?"

"Yeah."

"Put it on."

I oblige, and then I ask: "So, what to do now ?"

"Now, we reach out for the sky !"

I don't have time to ask what he means by this obscure expression, for at this very moment I see him take a sudden dash and run up the wall of his house ! Wow, Spider-Man ! I didn't expect that at all, in three hasty big steps, he has climbed up the few feet of the one-floor house and is now standing on the roof. I don't even realize that, behind my woolen mask, I have my mouth agap.

"So, you're coming, or you're scared ?"

Okay, what he did is maybe impressive, but I hate being teased, I'm gonna show him ! I take a big inspiration, and here we go ! I run, jump on the wall, and just like he did, I put all my strength and my speed to run up the few feet to the roof. I'm not fast enough ! My foot slips from the wall, and I begin to fall, but I grab the gutter and find myself hanging from the roof like a carpet on a clothesline. The whole operation lasted less than two seconds, and it was pretty noisy when compared to my friend's stealth climbing. I guess I'm not as good as he is. Okay, super-flexibility, time to see how it works for real. Focused, I flex my muscles and make a swift move so as to disjoint my legs. It doesn't hurt. It used to, at the beginning, but not anymore. I just have limbs that can become as flexible as cooked spaghetti, and I use them to pull myself up the gutter and on the roof.

"You okay ? I heard like a bone crack."

"Yeah, that's fine. I'm very flexible, sometimes I surprise myself. But, tell me, I thought you didn't like sports ? You're pretty good, you know."

"I don't like sports, except this one. You remember, last week, when your cop friend mentioned a rooftop runner ? Well, this guy is me."

"Really ? So you're like, a street acrobat ?"

"In a way, yes."

"But why do you do that ?"

"For the fun, of course ! It's like a race, a race against myself. Think you can hold the rythm ?"

"Go on, test me !"

"Then try to follow me !"

And he runs and jumps on the next roof. Smiling, I follow him. A long jump, that's pretty easy. Easier than climbing. After he made sure I'm okay, Matt resumes and we travel on houses all the way through the neighborhood, chasing each others from roof to roof like two kids playing tags. It's so thrilling ! I even laugh as we run and jump, and run and jump, like a hurdles race with the hurdles being the empty spaces between the houses, making it even scarier ! When we finally stop, the shots of adrenaline have made me all euphoric and I can't stop giggling like a silly girl. I didn't feel so good in a while !

"Why did we stop ?" I ask. "We can't stop now, we're just getting started !"

"Sure we won't, we just have a little problem..."

I look ahead. Oh, yes, of course. We've reached the last house of the block, and by such, the end of the neighborhood. Now, in front of us there is a three-storey stone building, among the many others that form the suburban area we're about to enter, separated from us by a street too wide to be crossed in a jump. It's impossible to continue on the rooftops from here.

"So, what now ? We go down and walk, or we turn back and take another direction ?"

"No, we continue straight ahead. Just..."

He stops speaking and give several taps of the tip of his cane on the roof we're standing on. Then he remains still a few seconds, as if concentrating, before he points his cane at a big antenna on the top of the building in front, as if aiming at it with a rifle. I frown.

"What are you trying to do ?"

In response, a hiss of compressed air makes me startle, and something pops out of his cane like a bullet to fly straight into the antenna. That thing, I don't know what it is, it gripped to its target... and now, there's a knitted steel rope that spawned from his cane, linking it to the rooftop... oh, my God, it's a grapnel ! Matt smiles at my impressed whisper, and says:

"So, let's go on, Batman-style !"

Unsure, I come closer and cling to him firmly. He passes an arm round my waist as the other is still holding the cane.

"I hope you know what you're doing..."

He doesn't answer, he just pushes a button, and I shriek in terror as the rope rewinds with haste, propelling us in empty space at breakneck speed ! We literally fly over the street ! Mommy ! I force my eyes to stay open, even though I'm terrified. It's even scarier than the boat ride in the Factory ! I see the stone wall coming right to me, and this time I do close my eyes, sure that we will crash on it, but Matt, with a superhuman reflex, puts his feet forward and bounces smoothly against it. Now, we're speeding upwards - I feel like Superman ! - and we eventually fly over the rooftop to land on it with grace, or at least, _he_ does, cause I was so scared I let go and I fall quite heavily by his side.

"Nothing broken ?"

I don't answer, I just sit still, panting like a dog, waiting for the shock to go away. I'm very hot, suddenly, and I take off my mask, letting the cold air stab me like a knife. My eyebrows are already going numb, but at least, this cold stab puts my mind back in place.

"No, that's..." I get up. "That's okay, I just think I'll have big bruises tomorrow... ouch... but, shit ! I mean, what the Hell !"

"Hey, easy there ! You're impressed, that doesn't prevent you from being polite."

"But how did you do that ?"

"You mean, for the grapnel ? Oh, that's just something I built, during a rainy Sunday afternoon... I think I was around, fifteen, or sixteen... I've always had a gift for mechanics."

"No, I mean, the whole thing... you move as well as someone who sees, or even better. You always seem to know where you're going and you don't seem afraid of anything. That's supernatural !"

"Well, thank you... you wanna know the truth ? You'll think I'm making fun of you if I tell ya..."

"There's only one way to know how I'll react. Just go ahead."

"I have a radar."

For a second, I think I don't quite understand it. "What ? A radar ?"

"Yes, a radar. To be more precise, it's... how can I explain ? I can't see... but I hear much better than anyone, to compensate. And... I hear so good in fact, that each sound echoes into my head, where it is interpreted, so that when a raindrop falls in a gutter, I can guess the shape and the material of this gutter, just by the sound it makes. All these sounds around us, the everyday life sounds you don't even pay attention to anymore - car engines, footsteps in a crowded place, the tingle of a can rolling on the sidewalk - all these sounds are my universe, they all come and blend together to form a picture inside my head. I know everything that happens around me, and it feels like I can see, even better, even more precisely, than with eyes."

"Wow ! So you're like a bat ?"

He laughs. "Yes, you can say it that way. A radar, like a bat."

"Do every blind people have this kind of stuff in their head ?"

"Blind people tend to have their four other senses greatly developped, to a certain extent, but according to all the doctors I met, I'm a unique case."

"Sure, you must be the only blind guy I've ever seen who's also a super-athletic rooftop runner with a grapnel in his cane. No, wait: actually, you're the only guy, blind or not."

He gives me a warm smile. "And you seem to like it. Wanna continue ?"

"Let's ride the sky till midnight !"

It's quite amusing how he bends his head aside, like a dog, as he considers me, puzzled. "Where does that silly phrase come from ?"

"I dunno... just invented it."

"Oh, okay... we go ?"

"Yep, we go."

----------

Under my feet, meters and meters below, I see cars driving, and people walking, in a quite anarchic symphony of lights and sounds of every possible kind. It's city life, down there, there must be hot-dog stalls, night-working people going out for a coffee during their break, couples coming out of cinemas, or just poor guys who are hurry to get to bed but who are stuck in traffic jams. That's strange how I feel so detached from all this. Normally, I would see all of this from the inside, but not tonight, and from where I am, the people are hardly bigger than ants.

"I feel so different when I look at them... so above them... it's almost scary. It's like there are two different worlds that can hardly meet. There is the street, and there is the rooftop."

"I think I know how you feel," Matt says, behind me. "You always think different when you suddenly find yourself much higher than everyone else. That's why I always loved rooftops. They're so much more quiet, so unaffected by the agitation of the street. As you said, that's a different world. And fatigue makes us poets."

Smiling faintly, for I'm getting pretty tired, I turn round and leave the edge to rejoin Matt, sitting in the middle of the rooftop, in the welcoming warmth of a nearby ventilation shaft. We have taken off our masks, and now we're just resting, silently, enjoying a hot chocolate Matt has stopped to buy in a Starbucks a few minutes before. It's getting close to midnight. It means we have been rooftop-running for three hours already ! You don't even see time go when you're having fun.

We've tried everything. From the suburban neighborhood near my house, we took the direction to my school, passed on it, and continued straight ahead, passing through more populated neighborhoods with higher and higher buildings, as we approached Downtown. As we progressed, it kept increasing in difficulty, and we made more and more frequent use of the grapnel to reach farther and higher places, and sometimes we even had to perform more dangerous manoeuvers such as sliding on phone cables, jumping off roofs to others that were a dozen meters below, or juggling between fire escapes. I think I passed near death at least a dozen times. If Mom learned about that, she would finish me ! We didn't pass by Downtown, Matt said that with its large streets and skyscrapers, it would be suicidal of me to go there. Already, quite a number of things we did were dangerous and, I've gotta say, irresponsible, and more than once he's been reluctant to take me through this or that route because of a particular difficulty. But, hey, I'm Violet Beauregard, I'm not afraid of anything, so I made it !

Made it where, I don't know. Really, I don't know where we've arrived. It's nowhere near my neighborhood, for sure: this place is more crowded, and the landscape, as opposed to the pretty individual houses I live in, is mostly composed of large square, low or mid height, buildings, nowhere as big as in Downtown, of course, but some of them are still quite impressive, especially when you're on the rooftop right now. And did I mention I'm exhausted ? Really, exhausted to a point you rarely reach. I feel like every little cell of my body has been emptied of its energy, so tired that my feet ache and my legs shake when I try to move them too fast. I feel like I'm made of lead, but you know what, I've hardly known anything more enjoyable before. As Matt promised, all the stress disappeared along with the energy, and I'm so tired I smile and giggle for nothing, nothing seems to have any sort of importance, I am relaxed, I am totally zen, for the very first time since my birth. I won't sleep long tonight, but I'll sleep like a baby, that's for sure.

"My father was still alive when I turned blind," Matt says, "so I still had a normal life for a few years. Or at least, I struggled to have a normal life. Things are not easy when you're the only blind kid around, especially when you grew up in Hell's Kitchen. So when I had enough, when I felt I was about to explode, I went up on rooftops, and I used my radar, and the extreme sensitiveness and balance it gave me, to train in climbing. Only then was I really in peace, up there, face to face with a death I couldn't see. And because I couldn't see death, it couldn't touch me. I remember very well, the first time, I was eleven and I did a cartwheel on the edge of the roof of my twenty-storey building. Without my sight, I had one chance out of one to die, but I didn't. That's when I began not to be afraid of anything, anymore. I don't want to sound presumptuous, but by the age of fifteen, I could do stunts that would make Jackie Chan blush. And here I am tonight, in Atlanta, teaching my art to my talented young neighbor !"

"Thanks... you said it was hard... you mean you were... like... bullied ?"

"Yeah..."

"And how did you do, to get rid of them ?"

"Kids will be kids, Violet. At first, I didn't do anything, I just let them do what they wanted, thinking that at the end, they would stop by themselves."

"You didn't try to fight ? You're so strong, you could have learned martial arts and kicked their ass, all of them !"

"That's not the way things work in reality. You kick their ass, as you say, but is it justice ? No, it's vengeance. And vengeance calls vengeance, you hit someone, he hits you back, an eye for an eye. My father understood this pretty well, that's why he always forbid me to fight. Because if I began, I would end up like him. He was a good boxer, but boxing brought him glory as well as it hurried his demise. And I wasn't supposed to be like him. He wanted me to become a doctor, or a lawyer..."

As he speaks, I can see a tear slowly rolling down his cheek. It's so sad. Apparently, he really loved his father... and his father died too soon. It suddenly reminds me of my own father, who died before I had the chance to know him, and it makes me want to cry too, though I do like Matt, I hold back.

"Anyway," he continues with a forced smile to chase dark thoughts away, "one day, I was really tired of all this taunting, so I brought all my classmates into an alley, near the school, and I showed them what I could do with a gutter, a phone pole, and two clotheslines hung ten meters above the ground. I became their hero, since that day. I was Matt Murdock, the one, street acrobat, the boy who was not afraid of anything. This day, I wanted so bad to have my sight back, even for a minute, just to see the stars in the eyes of the girls admiring me... well, I was just a kid. But I'll always remember the nickname they gave me, that they chanted everytime I tried a new stupid and dangerous stunt... that was my shot at glory."

"How did they call you ?"

He leans back against the shaft, looks up at the sky as if he could see it, and says, dreamily:

"The Boy Without Fear. They called me _DareDevil_."

A short silence settles between us, as Matt keeps looking at the stars, exploring some fond memories of his childhood. Finally, I say:

"That's a sweet story... and sad, too. Unfortunately, the ones after me are not the kind to be impressed by an exhibition of gymnastics."

"You have problems with bullies ?"

"Oh, no, I..."

Shit ! I didn't hold this back, it came all on its own. I struggle, embarrassed, and I sigh. Maybe I need to talk to someone, after all:

"Matt, can I trust you ?"

"Of course, you can."

"Okay... to be honest, I was very happy to come here with you tonight, cause I really need to unwind. Three weeks ago, I won a contest and went to visit Willy Wonka's Factory, in England."

"The Golden Ticket ?"

"Yes, the Golden Ticket... and since I came back, I feel like everything is teaming up against me, and it makes me mad. First... you'll be the first one to know that beside my Mom, because I hide with make-up most of the time, but my skin... is blue. All blue. That's because of an accident in the Factory. And I'm also super-flexible as a result... you believe me ?"

"I can sense it when people are telling lies. You're not. Don't worry, I won't call you a freak. I've been called this way too much myself. I bet you're even pretty in that blue color. If only I could see it..."

I blush. His words make me feel good.

"Thanks... anyway, if it was all, okay, but it's not. I learned that I'm fired from the dojo, because I tried to organize a freestyle fight last month, and they didn't like it. So, now, I can't even train. Karate was the only thing that allowed me to unwind, before. I'm not a street fighter, if that's what you think, I don't fight to crush people down, it's just... it's like you with your stunts. I didn't really like Karate when I began, and now I can't live without. And, there's that big Canadian guy, Red Devil, who terrorizes all the kids around, and apparently, he made me his prey of choice."

"What did he do to you ?"

"Well, that's weird. Everytime I meet him, I never know what he will do. When we first met, I tried to fight him, and he threw me in a dumpster. Okay, maybe it was also my fault. Monday, he was pretty nice, I think he was in a good mood, he even offered me a ride to school, and that was nice. I began to like him, or at least to think of him less as an enemy, you see... but yesterday, after class, he preyed on me for money, and because I didn't even have a quarter, he tied me to a pole with a handkerchief and Alice - a friend of his - put a mouse in my pants."

"So, sometimes he's nice, sometimes he's mean, isn't he ? Maybe he does that as a way to show you he likes you."

"You mean ? Like Reese in _Malcolm_ ? I don't know... if that's so, then that's really stupid, because it's not pleasant at all. Sometimes, I cry because of him."

"Oh... well... I'm sorry..."

"And there's more... this, is maybe the worst of my problems..."

Absorbed into my confession, I go on with my speech and tell him about my unfortunate encounter with the mafia and how I feel that they've been chasing me ever since. When I finish my story, I notice that Matt has almost turned livid.

"Wow," he whispers. "I'm sorry, I could have given you advices for your bullying problems, but here... here we're talking about criminals... I don't know what to say except that you should tell the cops..."

"No, I don't want to. If I tell the cops, I will attract attention on me, and they will want to get me even more... I can't do that."

"I understand... but there's nothing I can do."

"Nevermind... at least, it feels good to talk to someone..."

I finish my phrase with a loud yawn.

"You wanna go home ?"

"Yeah..."

We get up, and I come to him and give him a hug. "Thank you, Matt. I really needed to talk. Thank you for listening."

"You're welcome," he replies gently as he passes a hand in my hair. "That's what friends are for..."

The minute of tenderness finished, we put on our masks and prepare to leave.

"By the way," I ask, "where are we ?"

"I dunno... when I bought the chocolate, the Starbucks was inside a mall called Lenox Square, I think..."

My eyes grow twice their size: "Lenox Square ? What the Hell !"

"What ?"

"We're in Buckhead ! That's the complete opposite of the city ! Wow, I didn't imagine we made such a long way !"

"We can go down and take a taxi, if you want."

"No, I can't go to the streets without my make-up... maybe we can just take low, easy rooftops, even if the route is a little longer, I don't mind. But I don't feel like doing all these stunts again."

"Okay, then..." he pauses, just the time it takes to knock on the concrete with his cane and make his radar work. Then, he turns to a direction. "This way."

----------

We quickly descend several levels, by jumping from cornices to window cleaning platforms all along the building, to eventually arrive almost at street level, more precisely on the roof of a diner, where we're concealed behind the bright neon letters.

"Wait," I say, "why did we go down so much ?"

"Well, I thought that if we're lucky, we could climb on the roof of a bus and from there reach the tramway."

"You plan to ride a tramway on the roof ?"

"Or we can just hope it won't be too crowded..."

Maybe this is not such a good idea, but after all, we need to go back home, no matter how. Still, Buckhead ! How could we be crazy enough to go that far ? I begin to look out at the streets for a bus, when suddenly, I see him. My blood freezes in my veins. The young man from the car, the one with the leather suit and the bague. I could recognize him everywhere.

"Matt ! Look out !"

"What ?"

"The boy over there, the one in leather... wait, I think he's wearing cow-boy boots. Can you hear his boots ?"

"Yes. They have spurs."

"I don't see very well from here, but I think so."

"So, what about this boy ?"

"It's him ! The crook, the one who was driving the car, it's him ! I told you he was chasing me ! Oh my God, he finds me no matter where I go ! What's gonna happen now ?"

"Wait, calm down, Violet: he doesn't sound like he's chasing anyone."

As I look again, I think he's right: the leather guy doesn't even seem to have noticed us or to be searching for someone. He's walking in our direction, but on the sidewalk opposite the diner, without paying any attention to it. Actually, he looks more absorbed in a conversation with a beautiful tall, dark-haired woman walking by his side. His girlfriend ? I don't think so, she looks older than him, perhaps forty years old, and there's a strange detail I notice even at such a distance, her nails are abnormally long and look shiny grey, like steel, or silver.

"Matt ? Can you hear what they're talking about ?"

"It seems that they're just coming out of the cinema... they're talking about the movie they saw..."

"What movie ?"

"Don't know, but apparently, it involves a dog..."

The two people suddenly change their way and cross the street towards us. At first, I'm afraid they have spotted us, but no, it's just that their black Mercedes is parked alongside the diner. Soon, they're close enough for me to hear them, even though there really is only the boy talking:

"Yes, of course, the dog is cute, the girl is cute, everything's cute, but that doesn't make a good movie. The problem is that there was no plot. But really, no plot, no idea, there was nothing but a girl and her dog walking from a house to the other. Only this, for ninety minutes. Waw, what a thrill. And the fact that it's for kids is not an excuse, you don't do a kid any favor by showing them plotless pieces of fluff. That's the problem with American family movies, everything is done to make them harmless, gentle and fluffy, to a point that they lose every bit of interest. A few directors try to step out of the norm, but they're just not enough. Take _Edward Scissorhands_, for example. That's what I call a really good movie, but they won't call it a family movie, because wussy liberals won't like the violent and scary scenes, even though it's a beautiful, universal story that can be understood by people of any age, full of positive messages, and there's romance, and there's passion, and there's Johnny Depp ! But instead, parents will prefer to take their kids to see what ? A mindless boring film that offers nothing except a lost town, a smiling dog, and AnnaSophia Robb. Crap !"

The boy stops to light up a cigarette, and the woman says:

"What do you want, not all directors are as good as Tim Burton."

"Well that's a shame ! He should do more movies. You know what, he should do a movie about this British candymaker, Willy Wonka. Or better, a movie about the Golden Ticket Contest. A film shot like a fairytale, simple, entertaining and intelligent. Could be called something like _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. I bet kids would love it !"

"I didn't know you had such a passion for American cinema ! You never considered becoming a film critic ? I bet you'd love it."

"Na, it would be a waste of time. My great intelligence is meant to serve nobler purposes."

"Okay, for now we'll just remember not to ask Anton for advice anymore, when we want to see a movie, because his tastes suck."

At this moment, I believe I'm hallucinating. This dialogue I've just heard sounds terribly surrealistic, it's the Fourth Dimension, it's Toilet Zone ! So, the creepy rocker-looking criminal who's been chasing me, happens to be a megalomaniac film critic specialized in family movies... that must be a bad dream, cause it's totally nonsensical. I even begin to think they may even not be the people I think they are at all, when the last few words they exchange before they get in the car abruptly bring me back to the cold reality. It's the boy who talks:

"By the way, how's it going for the kidnapping operation ?"

"How many times have I told you to use euphemisms ? You're supposed to say a 'babysitting' operation, sounds much more threatening."

"Yeah, whatever. So how's it going ?"

"Still quite smoothly, we can proceed exactly as planned."

"Good."

And they get in, the car drives off its parking and begins to leave. I turn to Matt, panicked:

"You hear that ? They're gonna kidnap someone !"

I can see he also looks worried, but his quick reaction catches me totally by surprise:

"Be back soon."

He mumbles these three words, and right after, he jumps from the roof and onto a traffic light pole, and from here to the roof of a 4x4, and he keeps jumping like that until he disappears from my sight, without paying attentions to the angry honks and scared yells his sudden apparition provoked. I didn't even have time to ask him to wait. I can't follow him. Too dangerous. Already, I can't understand how he did all these leaps, no-one could do that, except Spider-Man. I decide to get out of here and go for the back of the diner, from where I jump into a desert, snowy alley, thus finally setting foot at ground level after over three hours. From there, I look out for a fire escape and climb it up all the way until I reach another rooftop, this one of a five-storey residential building. I look out in the general direction where Matt and the car disappeared, but none of them are to be seen. Unsure and kind of worried, I decide to wait here for a while.

After a good fifteen minutes, I finally perceive a shadowy figure leaping on cars, towards me, and finally, Matt climbs up to rejoin me.

"That was not very discreet," I notice.

"Sorry, dear, but I had to act quickly... and maybe too quickly."

"You lost them ?"

"Yeah, they disappeared in this direction."

He points out at our right.

"That's towards East Atlanta," I say. "The not-so-good neighborhoods. Quite a suitable place for the mafia, actually."

"Dang, now someone will be kidnapped and we don't even know who. Violet, we should really give the few informations we have to the police."

"No ! They would come after me, then !"

"Think about it: maybe it's you, the one they're trying to kidnap. I don't wanna scare you, just warn you not to keep things for yourself, cause it might put you in danger. Be careful with these guys, they're nothing like Red Devil."

"Okay... all this is pretty spooky. What are we gonna do, now ?"

"Right now, there's nothing we can do, but go home and rest. Come."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, I said it could be long before a possible update, you'll be happy to learn it was much shorter than planned ! Don't ask why, it's a combination of several factors including insomnia, writing frenzy, and vacations. Anyway, here's something for the trivia section:

- Masutatsu Oyama was a real-life martial artist, who was famous for having killed a charging bull with his bare hands. I don't know if the pebble thing was real, honestly, that's something I found in a movie based on Oyama, _Fighter in the Wind_. Some elements of this story (in later chapters) have been inspired by this movie.

- The clothes Matt wears in this chapter, the black tracksuit with the blindfold, have been taken from Frank Miller's _DareDevil: The Man Without Fear_. It's the first, improvised DareDevil costume.


	10. Ninja Justice

_Thursday, February 25th._

"Choku-zuki !"

The dozen karatekas standing in a line on the tatamis let out a shout and threw a straight punch in the air. The master repeated his order and they punched again. And again. And over again. What a beauty in karate, that martial art which consisted in doing the same moves again and again for hours ! But no, that wasn't true. Here, they were at the four o'clock lesson, it was the lesson for the experts, most of them being cocky college students who had nothing to do after the few class they had and had become martial art geeks out of boredom - and cruel lack of a girlfriend. For them, repeating punches in the air with retard screams was only a warm-up, only for the youngest grades did it take whole lessons, mostly to reassure their parents that karate was not a violent sport and also - let's be honest - for the sheer pleasure of annoying students. However, sometimes a student happened to be really gifted or over-pressured by a pushy soccer mom, and would get a high grade very quickly, and this dojo had already seen high-ranking black belts who were not even twelve yet. The problem with these kids was that they usually became overconfident and got on everyone's nerves, especially since the majority of black belts were in their twenties and didn't appreciate competition with these kids. Gladly, they were pretty scarce, and the dojo administration would always find an excuse to kick them out before they became a problem. The last time they had such a kid, it was Miss...

The lights went out. Here, all of a sudden. Somebody turned off the lights, and now the only lighting came from the bleak sky outside that shone through the narrow windows. That is to say, it was pretty dark. The karatekas stopped their workout, annoyed.

"Hey !" the master called. "Is there somebody there ?"

It came from the ceiling. In the shadow, they could hardly distinguish it, but there was definitely a figure over their heads, leaping from a catwalk to the other, in total silence, like a... ninja ? The intruder eventually dropped from the ceiling and landed smoothly in the middle of the tatamis. The karatekas gathered round considered this newcomer with mixed feelings of worriness and amusement. Seriously, what was_that_ ? A young man of average size, but quite intimidating with his confident composure and fancy attire: he was clad in a crimson kimono tightened around the waist by a large belt, around the forearms by dark armbands, and around the legs by dark jika-tabis, those famous flexible split-toe boots. His head was almost entirely covered by a black bandana that let only his nose, mouth, and lower jaw uncovered. There were not even any holes for his eyes, and that was maybe the weirdest part. He looked like a blind ninja.

"Hey, buddy !" the master sniggered. "Looks like we've got a manga geek here ! If you took that rag out of your eyes, you'd see you've come to the wrong place. This is a dojo, here, not a cosplay convention !"

The ninja dude turned his head to him, and at this moment, the master understood he really was blind: only people who've been blind for a long time could rely on sound as well as to identify where a voice came from. He spoke in a very calm, patient manner:

"Actually, sir, this exactly the place I was looking for. I would like to talk with the master."

"That's me. What do you want... ninja ?"

He said this last word with an uncontrolled laugh, the contemptuous laugh every serious Western martial artist had when brought to such a ludicrous subject as ninjas.

"I came here for a friend of mine. Violet Beauregard, you know her ? She recently got expelled from this dojo."

"Sure. So what about her ?"

"Master, my friend is very sad not to be allowed to train with you anymore, so I came, asking for your kindness, to reconsider your decision."

"And you needed that pajama to come and ask ?"

"My apologies, sir. An ancient Asian tradition wants two martial artists involved in a feud to solve the problem in a fair fight. This is how Bruce Lee gained the right to open his dojo, I believe. I thought this was the perfect occasion."

This time, it was not a snigger the master let out, but a loud, frank laugh:

"What ? So you want us to fight for Violet's right to come back ? Listen up, pal: I had excellent reasons for kicking her out. She broke the rules of this dojo by bringing on a real fight, with real blows and bare knuckles, which did not only break the rules but was also stupid and dangerous. There is no way I let her come back, you hear me, ninja ?"

"I hear you, but honestly, don't you see the paradox in kicking a person out of a place where we learn to fight, simply because that person did fight ? It's a bit hypocritical. She told me everything you told her, and I know you actually fired her because her behavior risked to bring a bad reputation to your dojo. But I believe there is another, underlying reason: in that fight, she beat some of your older black belts, and I believe they simply couldn't stand having their ass kicked by a little girl. And because these men are your students too, you took it personally. She hurt your pride of big, strong male karateka, and you had a revenge in expelling her. I call that puerile."

The master was now not amused by this game anymore, and was on the edge of explosion. He roared:

"Now listen to me, you prick ! I'm not man to allow the first fancily-clad ninja-obsessed virgin to come in my dojo and insult me and my students ! Now, I give you a chance: you have ten seconds to run away from here before I kick your sorry ass over and over again ! You hear me ?"

"Sure, but let's imagine... what if I stay here, and I do kick your ass... all of you. What would happen, then ?"

"You think you can beat the dozen of us on your own ? Man, you're more insane than I ever imagined ! Okay, if I conceive for one second that you could bring all of us down, I allow Violet back without conditions !"

He had of course said this as a joke, but looking at the ninja's smile when he agreed, he was dead serious. The master had a chill, and that surprised him. This guy was so confident he could even win the bet !

"Ben, Ian, Kevin ! On the mat !" the master called, and the three karatekas obeyed and surrounded the crimson-clad stranger. They stood on guard. Their opponent didn't look worried the least.

"Fight !"

Lash ! Lash ! Lash ! Before the three young fighters could move, the ninja had sprung three kicks, one for each man, all with the same leg. The force of the impact was like that of a whip, and the men were immediately knocked down, one had even his nose bleeding.

Among the others remaining, there was a silent moment of consternation... before they all rushed into the fight. In a matter of seconds, chaos, brutal anarchy took over this quiet dojo, and roars of anger mixed up with shrieks of pain covered the huffed sounds of strikes and falls. The first man to try his chance dashed in a flying kick, which the ninja dodged by a roll-over. The next moment, someone collapsed, crying, his kneecap cracked like a match. Another one managed to grab the ninja by the shoulders and judo toss him, only to have him counter in a cartwheel and reply with a violent kick to the chin as he stood back up. A tooth landed between the master's feet as he watched the fight in awe. Punches in the lungs to cut the breath, or in the nose to turn the face into a bloody fountain. Counter-holds and armlocks that gave no other choice but submission. Kicks in the ribs or knees, where it hurt the most. No holds barred. That was not a fight, that was a festival of the most vicious techniques martial arts had to offer. Whoever this guy was, he knew what he was doing instead of throwing flashy moves at random like the basic ninja fanatic would do. And even without his sight, his accuracy was simply perfect, not any of his moves missed its target... and he struck with the force of a truck piston.

The master had counted well, though it was hard to believe: the whole fight had lasted eleven seconds. Eleven seconds to bring twelve men down without being touched only once. That was almost superhuman. Thinking it was the only thing he was supposed to do now, the master anxiously walked on the mat, among his defeated students who hurriedly crawled away, as far as possible, letting only their master and this ninja intruder in the middle of the fighting area. They all had the nasty impression of being in a live remake of _Fist Of Fury_.

"I have to admit," the master said, "your technique is very effective. What is that style ? Taijitsu ?"

"No. Kirigi-ryu. Ninjitsu."

"Interesting. I thought this style was dead."

"Well, I just proved it's not."

The master stood on guard. Now, all the confidence he had before the fight was reduced to nothing more than a vague memory. For that guy was deathly strong. He took a deep breath, flexing his muscles, trying to prevent his limbs from shaking. The ninja didn't flinch. All the strength was gathered in his arm. The master was known for his ability to break through brick walls with his straight punch. There was no way this ninja dude could bear with that. He prepared to strike, when suddenly, the ninja jumped ! Surprised, the master raised his arms in protection, expecting a kick in the face, but his opponent tricked him and landed on his midsection, locking his hips between his legs in a sort of scissor lock. A sharp, excruciating pain ran from the master's waist to all his body, and he fell down, still locked into submission.

"Now," the ninja said, "I suppose you know what's gonna happen if I keep squeezing your hips like that. Not only will it hurt like Hell, but after a while, your kidneys will go into shock, they will tense and unwind at the same time, and as a result, you're gonna crap in your pants. So, keep the few dignity you have left and tell me what I want to hear, will you ?"

"Okay," he groaned, "okay... I surrender... and Violet... can come back anytime."

"Good."

Just that, a single word, and he released his victim. Just like his students, the master was in too much pain to stand up, and the physical pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of being beaten - all of them - by a single outsider. So he just lay there and watched without a word as the ninja saluted when he walked off the mat, and disappeared, rubbing his hands in satisfaction. The last thing they heard him utter before he left was:

"That is done. Now, on to this Devil guy..."

----------

_A few hours earlier..._

When I woke up this morning, I already knew things wouldn't happen as usual. Of course, nothing did happen as usual since I came back from the Factory all blue and flexible, but here that's different. I don't know why, a feeling that since we've done all this rooftop running with Matt, I shall be bound to run with him again, for a much greater and more perilous adventure than a simple climbing exercise. Or maybe is it just because I'm still exhausted, and all my muscles are sore from the intense exercise and the short sleep of the night before. Because, to be honest, so far it just looks like a normal day. I had the great chance not to meet Red Devil on my way to school, and now the morning classes are over, and I'm putting stuff in my locker before I rejoin Connie for lunch. Then suddenly, two girls arrive behind me and shut my door brutally. I turn round to face them: oh, great ! Amy and Anne, two friends of Penny, both as bitchy as she is.

"What do you want ?" I ask without any sort of politeness.

"Oh, we just came to see how the number one bitch is doing."

"Number one bitch ?"

"You're aware that Penny's still crying because of what you said ? Joking about a family name is really bastard, even we don't do this ! We thought you had pride, but really, you're not any better than Phillips !"

"Well, she shouldn't have pushed me too far in the first place. It's an eye for an eye. Now, if you please..."

I turn back to my locker. Anna shouts:

"Don't turn your back at us, you bitch !"

And she pushes me violently against the locker. I immediately turn back and give her a headbutt. She had it coming ! What the Hell ! She jerks back in shock and puts a trembling finger under her nose to see if it's bleeding. It's not. I was careful not to hit too hard, so that I wouldn't gain a free tour at the principal's office. Still, the look she gives me could kill someone with sheer hatred. Amy says nothing and prefers to stand behind. Wise girl.

"Now, listen to me !" I shout. "Maybe I'm not the Queen anymore, and yes, it's true, Red Devil owns me. Still, that doesn't mean I'm gonna become a tame sweety pie or a preppy whore like you, you hear me ? I'm still Violet Beauregard, and when I'm pissed, the whores die ! So you'd better hear well because I won't tell you twice: I don't like you. I'm not like you. And I don't wanna be like you. The walls could be shaking, the earth could be quaking, I still won't wanna be like you. So don't talk to me again and get the Hell out o'my way before I kill someone ! GO !"

To my greatest satisfaction, they're convinced by my arguments and run away like rabbits chased by a dog. I'm quite proud of the reaction, to be honest. At this moment, I hear a boy's voice behind me:

"Not very subtle, but... rather effective."

I turn to look at this guy and almost bump right into Bronson Roarke. Panic ! I want to say something, but it's like a bridge has been cut between my brain and my mouth, and the words won't come out. And the drum beats of my heart don't help to think clearer ! Oh my God, he's just so cute, with his crown of golden hair, he looks like an angel !

"Oh ! Uh... hi, Brownie... oh, well, I was just... you know..."

"Marking your territory, I can see that. Well, see ya later, predator."

He says this with a cute smile and begins to walk away.

"Yeah," I mumble, "see ya later..."

He disappears from my sight. Oh, no ! What did I do ? I just sounded like a dork, I couldn't say two words without giggling ! Now, that's sure he's gonna believe I'm some kind of a giggly girly girl with no brain ! Wait, I never thought like that before the Tour. I so wish I were back to the good old days when I could be mean to everyone and not give it a damn ! Connie rejoins me, and before she can say anything I grab her by the shoulders:

"Connie ! Thank God you're here ! Please tell me... how did I look like ?"

"Like a real terror, a tiger in the jungle."

"I mean, when I talked to Brownie ?"

"Oh. Well... like a dork."

"Oh, shit... tell me, when he smiled, what kind of smile was it ? Was it a sweet smile like he likes me and all, or was it a smile like he thinks I'm totally stupid ?"

"Vi, I came from behind him, I couldn't see how he smiled."

I turn my back at her and hit my head on the locker. "Oh my... I'm sure he's making fun of me, anyway. I looked so stupid !"

"Whoa, Vi ! I never saw you so upset before, especially for a boy ! Just go ahead and don't think about it anymore !"

"What do you mean, _just go ahead _?"

"Well, go and ask him out !"

"Connie, you're bat fuck insane !"

"Oh, come on, grow up a little ! I mean, you're gonna look stupid as long as you won't talk to him. So, do it now, and you'll be free, whatever happens you know what to expect."

"You're sure about that ?"

"Certain. If you took more time reading girls' magazines, you'd find out it's not only about clothes and stars."

We keep talking until we arrive at the doors of the cafeteria, where we have to queue to get in. I don't notice Brownie's queueing just in front of me until Connie practically pushes me against him. I gasp, trip and fall, but the basketball player catches me in extremis and I land in his arms. Second near-heart attack of the day.

"You okay ?" he asks. I don't answer. I don't even think I've heard him.

"Violet ?"

"Your mouth's agap..."

"You're drooling..."

I finally come back to reality and hurry to sweep the saliva out of my mouth. Yuk ! Oh, no, what did I look like, mesmerized for so long ? Quick, something to say, quick !

"Why, thanks, Brownie. You just saved my life."

He laughs. And I want to slap myself ! Where in the world did I find such a cheesy thing to say ? Oh, wait, maybe he's not laughing at me but laughing_with_ me. Behind, Connie pokes my ribs with her elbow to push me on, and I look at her for one second, just enough to throw her a glance that means:_You're gonna have a long and painful death_, and then I turn back to Brownie.

"Hey ! Uh, I mean..." I take a deep breath and spit out: "sorry if I look silly, but I was just wondering, maybe we could go out someday, have a milk-shake or something... you'd like ?"

He doesn't answer... why doesn't he answer ? He just looks at me, blank face, his mouth just letting out an embarrassed "Oh..."

Uh-oh ! Not good, not good at all ! He gingerly takes me out of the queue to an empty corridor where we can talk quietly.

"Listen, Violet," he says softly, "I'm sorry, but I... don't think we could get along well."

"Wh... what do you mean ? You don't know a lot about me..."

"I know that, not so long ago, you used to call me Ringo because I'm British."

What, really ? Damn, I used to be so dumb ! Sometimes, I feel so changed, as if Violet the terrible everyone talks about was another person.

"Oh, that ?" I giggle. "But, hey, you know, I was just kidding."

"That's not what you used to say."

"But, okay, I know I was quite... not an easy girl, but I've changed, Brownie ? Will you give me a chance ?"

He shakes his head slowly. "What I saw with Anne and Amy didn't show much of a change. I'm sorry, a girl who gets mad at everyone and punches for no reason is just not my kind of girl. Sorry, Violet."

He begins to walk back to the cafeteria, but before he turns to add:

"I mean, I'm really sorry. I hope you understand."

I smile weakly, the best smile I can produce for the moment, and say it's okay, I don't mind. He goes away, and he leaves me alone, destroyed, in the hallway. Yep, destroyed. Dead. Killed from the inside. At this moment, if a hole opened before me, a hole leading straight to Hell with no return ticket, I think I would jump in with pleasure. But that hole doesn't appear, so instead, I just go to shelter in the girl's restroom. A guy passes by while I'm on my way. A small boy, skinny, with glasses. Brandon, the one who ran away and escaped from a beating by Devil, a few days ago. He nods at me, shyly.

"Hi, Violet..."

"What do you want ? Fuck off !"

I literally bark at him. That wasn't necessary. But it felt quite good, to be honest.

I don't know how long I stayed in the restroom, sitting in a narrow space between two lavatories, as if I wanted to disappear in the plumbing system - and maybe that's what I wanted - looking at my feet, not moving, until Connie eventually finds me.

"Vi ?"

She comes and sits beside me.

"I'm sorry, Vi. Didn't really go on as planned, did it ?"

I look up, straight in her eyes. My eyes are itching, and by the look she gives me, I think she sees I'm about to cry.

"You know what ?" I say. "It sucks to be a normal girl. It really, really sucks."

----------

"How was your day, sweetheart ?"

I don't even answer to my Mom when I come home, and I walk straight into my room, where I throw myself on the bed. I'm not crying. I'm not very sad anymore, I'm just... dull. It's like nothing has any flavor around me. It's maybe worse than sadness, in a way. So I just bury my head in the pillow and pretend that I don't exist, it's the only thing that makes me feel better.

I hear my door open, and then I feel a hand gingerly stroking my back as Mom sits beside me on the bed.

"The dojo called this afternoon," she says. "They say they're waiting for you, anytime."

Oh, really ? By what miracle did they decide to accept to take me back ? If only I cared... all this karate business seems aeons away from me, now...

"Is there a problem, dear ? Something you want to talk about ?"

I look at her and nod, and I involuntarily shed a tear which she wipes away gently.

"It's about boys, isn't it ?"

I nod.

"A boy who made you sad ?"

"Mom... what was it like ? You and Daddy ?"

She sighs and looks away, her eyes nostalgic. "You know I don't like to talk about your father..."

"Please, Mom... it would do me good. I really wanna know. I don't know anything about him, except he died when I was just a few months old. Please... Mom..."

She looks back at me, and I see the tears. I feel quite ashamed. I should not have forced her to remember all those sad things, but she doesn't seem to mind. She just apologizes and dries her tears, and then she settles comfortably on the bed and, while absent-mindedly playing with my feet, she begins her story:

"James... your father... he was... exactly like you. Really. You have his eyes, and his eyes were the first thing I fell in love with. You know he was half-French ?"

I nod, smiling. "Beauregard," I murmur, "it means Pretty Eyes in French..."

"Yes... I had just arrived in Louisiana, when I met him. I was just the newcomer, with my small fitness club I'd just opened in Baton Rouge, and he was already a superstar, 'Freewheel' James Beauregard, the local rally racing wonder. Now, you know who you hold your competitive side from. You're just like him... I remember that car he had, a big red Ford Mustang he had called _SCARLET II_. He thought I would be flattered... well, I was." She sniggers. "But, of course, we'd been together for long already when he got that car... no, the first time we met... it was a rainy night, and you know that, in Louisiana, when the rain falls, it _really_ falls, and sometimes it even feels like the soil has turned to some kind of big sponge. Funnily, he, the pilot, had a breakdown. I was coming home from shopping, passing beside the swamps with my second-hand Renault - couldn't afford a better car at that time - and suddenly I saw that monstrous Subaru parked alongside the road, in the grass, and it wasn't moving except for the wheels that were slowly being swallowed into the soil. So I stopped, asking if he needed help, and here he came out, and when I saw this big blond guy - and when I say big it's like, Dolph Lundgren, you know - in front of me, clad in his blue leather racing suit, well I decided blue was now my favorite color ! He came to me, embarrassed - imagine a big guy like him being embarrassed, that was hilarious - and said his engine was drowned and he was looking for a wrecker."

"And what did you do ?"

"We didn't have any cell phone, so I proposed to drive him to Baton Rouge to find a repair guy. We weren't living in the same town, by the way. So on we were, and on the way we started to chat and he introduced himself, and that's when I remembered I'd seen him in newspapers before, and I understood why he was so embarrassed ! I couldn't help, I kept teasing him all the way long. When we arrived in town, we couldn't find any repair guy who was available before an hour, so he tried to offer me a drink to thank me. As we were close to my house, I invited him instead, and... well, we went on talking, and ended up having dinner together, and we were having such a good time that we completely forgot about his car."

"Oh, my !"

"Yes, you can say that. When we finally remembered, it was like, close to midnight, I wanted to drive him back to his car, but the road was closed because of the storm."

"But, what happened to the car ?"

"That's the funniest ! While we were having dinner, the storm had degenerated into a torrent around the car and taken it away, we eventually found it deep into a bayou five miles away !"

She laughs at the amazed look I give her and assures me everything she said is true, even if it's hard to believe.

"What happened next ?" I ask.

"Well I couldn't possibly let him go home on his own in the middle of the night, so I let him sleep at my place. The day after, he left, he was pretty busy with the loss of his car and all, but a few days later, we met again and he reminded me he still owed me a drink - and a dinner. That was our second date."

"So... actually, you met by accident ?"

"Exactly. A very fortunate accident..." she suddenly grows somber, and this mood shift makes me ill at ease. "Some accidents," she continues, "are less fortunate... just a few miles too fast... a curve a little too sharp... and..."

"Oh... I'm sorry..."

But she quickly regains her composure. "Nevermind ! It belongs to the past, after all... we all should look towards the future, not the past..."

"I guess so... thanks, Mom. I love you."

She bends over to give me a tender kiss on my forehead. A few weeks ago, I would have found this embarrassing, sissy-ish. Not now.

"I love you too, sweetheart... you know what, I don't feel like cooking at all, now... Chinese ?"

"Mexican !"

"Okay, this works... but next time, I choose."

----------

It was very late at night, and apart from the guardian, there was not a soul wandering in the dark hallways of Terrance Phillips' high school at almost two o'clock. Two o'clock ! the guardian thought, yawning, as he walked through the courtyard to the small guardhouse for a well deserved coffee. Was there any job in the world that was more boring than watching a high school at night ? For this guardian, of course, nothing had ever happened and never would happen that would be worse than a kid writing graffitis on the wall. That was just too bad he wasn't a bit more zealous about his job, for if he had made his patrol a little longer, perhaps he would have seen that crimson figure landing on the roof.

His tabi-clad feet landed on the concrete without a sound. Immediately then, he lifted his head, his blind eyes, useless, were concealed behind his black bandana, and he was relying on his ears and nose to make sure the guardian was into the guardhouse and wouldn't come out. Good. He stood up, the only sounds he produced being the soft rustle of the fabric of his crimson suit and the discreet clinking of his cane. He also carried a small but quite heavy bag fastened on his belt. He didn't like to wear this heavy bag, but that was why he was here. The ninja was on a mission. Fast and smooth as if his muscles were made of liquid steel, he ran to the edge of the rooftop and stood there, concentrating. A ninja is supposed to be as silent as possible, but in his case, he had to be noisy, he had no other choice: he gave a strong tap on the concrete with the tip of his cane, then he waited again. Listening. The sound echoed, bounced against the walls and windows, below him, to come back to his ears, and he heard all those hundred imperceptible echoes as clearly as raindrops on an oil-cloth. All the windows were closed and locked. Except one. On the second floor, on his left. This one seemed to have a problem in the mechanism, or maybe it was the frame wood, swollen with the humidity, that prevented it from closing properly. Whatever, this was the perfect point of entry.

The ninja went to work. After making sure the grapnel hidden in his cane was gripped tight around an antenna pole, he took a run and suddenly jumped out of the rooftop à la Steve McQueen. The steel rope of his grapnel unwinded with a furious hiss as he dove into empty space, so used to such acrobacy that he hardly experienced any thrill. Then, when the ninja was at the level of the second floor, the rope stopped, making its user startle and swing in the air until he managed to put his feet on the wall, stopping smoothly beside the unlocked window. He would have liked to have his sight just to see how pretty his manoeuver had been, but whatever. For practicing since he was a child, this had been piece of cake. He opened the window without problem and finally snuck inside the building, and he pushed a button on his cane to rewind the rope and the grapnel before he shut the window behind him. Now, it was quite warmer inside, and so calm !

The room sounded quite large, and when his hands caressed a wooden plate which he recognized as a desk-chair, he acknowledged he was in a classroom. And of course, the door was locked. No problem, he had thought about that too. He searched his small bag and produced a thin metal pen which he introduced into the keyhole. He turned. Waited. Listened. Eventually, a very light clink informed him he had successfully unlocked the door and he left for the hallway. The technique of cracking a doorlock open, that always seemed easy in the movies, was actually very difficult, but thanks to his hypersensitive ears, that was no problem for him. But now, the most tedious part of the mission was coming: he didn't know this place at all, and he had to find a room in it, without his sight. The only things he could rely on were the panels written in relief on each doors, and his instinct, that advised him to go down to the first floor. The room he was looking for was almost always situated on the first floor.

It took him yet a good while there to eventually find what he was looking for, when his fingers came across a doorplate that read: _Teachers' Lounge_. That was the place. He cracked the lock and entered. Now, just one little thing to do and he would have to run away like crazy before it blew up. Calmly, the ninja avoided the couches and tables and walked around until he found the right place, in the middle of the room. He knelt down on the carpet and took his bag to produce the thing that was so heavy: a black cylindrical one-liter container, linked to a red stick of explosives with cables that were themselves linked to a timer. The ninja set the clock to three minutes, and activated the bomb.


	11. SilverNailed Lady

_Friday, February 26th._

"Shit !" the counsellor gasped at the sight of the wrecked-up place that once was a teachers' lounge.

"Indeed it is," the principal answered, sarcastically.

Actually, the only real physical damage was a black burned circle on the carpet where the bomb had exploded. It had been a very weak bomb, not strong enough to cause any real damage, but just enough to spray a certain quantity of liquid turd all over the place, where it stuck on the walls, the couches, the tables, painting everything a very pleasant shade of brown. It was a math teacher who arrived first this morning who discovered the disaster. It's very pleasant to arrive early on a cold Friday morning and discover your room full of... well, shit. The principal was flabbergasted. He had seen a lot of mean things, a lot of petty vandalism in his career: stinkbombs, graffitis, even broken windows sometimes. But that was the very first time someone dared blow a turd bomb in his school. They had to find the culprit quickly. For such a crime, the punishment was to be harsh and set as an example. No-one could get away with this !

"Sir !" a counsellor called from the other side of the room. "You'd better come and see this !"

The principal walked carefully through the place, trying not to stain his shoes, to the counsellor who was kneeling down and looking at something on the floor in a disgusted manner. The principal looked and withdrew quickly, equally disgusted: it was a couple of fries, the remains of a meal eaten quickly as the perpetrator was setting his bomb, but those fries were covered with a brown and white substance that made them nauseous at simply watching it. That was gross. Perhaps grosser than the turd !

"My God !" the counsellor whispered. "What have they done to these poor fries ?"

"That's poutine," the principal explained. "A Canadian fast-food meal. Fries covered with gravy sauce and cheese curds."

The counsellor immediately rose up and dashed out of the room to vomit. The second counsellor came to the principal:

"But who in the world could eat such a thing ? That is so..."

"Only a Canadian can eat poutine and survive... and we have only one Canadian student in this school... I want to see Terrance Phillips in my office as soon as possible !"

----------

I run to be the first one to open the door and enjoy the fresh air. It's five in the afternoon, and we're on week-end ! Feels so good ! Okay, actually I'm not so tired, even if our last class was biology. Sciences used to bring me to sleep, but today I found it fascinating. That is to say, we were taught about the human skin, and I spent the hour asking weird questions about how it works for skin color, and if we can change it, and if there can be cures when the skin turns an abnormal color, and about skin diseases, and now I guess the teacher thinks I'm nuts and my classmates think I'm a teacher's pet. Plus, I didn't learn anything useful for my own problem. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters when you're on week-end !

I stand in the courtyard, waiting for Connie and Randa, and then we walk out on the street, engaged in a fiery debate to decide whether we're going to the cinema or the bowling tomorrow. Connie eventually proposes to go to the swimming pool, but I refuse right away, much to her surprise. I used to love swimming, but now it's a big no-no !

"Still here..." Randa sighs, suddenly.

"What ?"

She points out in the direction of the black Mercedes parked further in front of us. "Still that creepy car," she says. "I wonder what they really want..."

"Don't ask," I reply. "We'd better take another way, I don't really want to meet them again."

"Oh, look !" Connie exclaims. "It's Red Devil coming !"

Indeed, I can see it too, the red Kawazaki that is coming from the end of the street, racing towards us fast... very fast... wait, too fast ! What is wrong with him ? We stop to watch him in awe, wondering where the Hell he could go with going so fast on an icy road. He drifts to the right, riding as close to the sidewalk as possible, as if he wanted to stop and park, but he's not slowing down, on the contrary ! Then, it happens so fast I can't react: as he passes beside me, just inches away from me, his arm reaches out like a wrestling clothesline to grab me by the collar, I feel a violent push that almost knocks me down, and when I regain my wits, I find myself lying helpless on my stomach across the gas tank and the bike is pursuing on its way at the same crazy speed. Oh my God ! Even the chilly wind that blows on me and hurts like a whip isn't strong enough to make me believe it: I just got kidnapped !

"What the fuck is wrong with ya ?" I shout, panicked, but with the wind and his helmet, he probably can't hear me. Still, I can't help and keep shouting, for that's the only thing I can do, I'm much too scared to struggle and get hurt in an accident ! And the maniac isn't slowing down ! I look ahead just enough to see a car right in front, and I yell and I cling on the tank as if my life was at stake - which is actually the case ! Jesus, Terry wants to kill himself and he's taking me along with him ! I feel the car bend to the left and my heart makes a cartwheel in my chest as he avoids the car, and another move to the right makes me want to puke when he dodges another car. There, I think I've fainted, or at least been reduced to a state of dizzy terror where I can barely feel what's going on, because I only open my eyes when I feel the bike slowing down, and shaking as he leaves the road for an irregular soil ground. I look around to see a construction field. Where am I ? There's not a worker in sight. Wait, I remember this place. That's where I borrowed a road roller, a while ago. I don't remember what they were building, a city office I think, but the project was abandoned and this field has been left deserted ever since, apart from the rusting cranes standing among the lonely erected walls of a building that will never be finished. Sometimes, you can see kids here, scavenging for iron bars to play _Star Wars _with and funny abandoned chemicals to "try" on weaker kids. I know it because I used to do that too.

Eventually, the bike stops and Devil pushes me out, and I'm so numb and trembling with that joy ride that I fall down. Some people pick me up. Oh, shit... they're his friends. The boys in pleather jackets. They put me on my feet, and as they're still holding me, I'm quick to realize they won't let me go away. What do they want from me ? I feel scared. Not the wild terror of the ride, but the worse, cold anguish of anticipation. _What are they gonna do to me ? _I look round. All the gang is here, the dozen boys plus Devil and Alice, the goth girl, and they don't look like they're here for a tea-party. Three of the boys are holding me, and a few feet in front, two others are holding someone else. Another girl. Penny ? What did they bring her here for ? What the Hell is going on here ? The place we're all gathered in is pretty much in the middle of the field, where we're invisible from the streets, in a small space surrounded by rusty scaffoldings. Standing in front of an old black steel drum she uses as a table, Alice is working, gently pouring tabasco sauce on... oh, my, I wish it were a sandwich, but no, she's pouring sauce on two cell phones. I immediately understand what it means. Texas. Chili. Bowl.

"Let me go !" I shout, and I begin to struggle. "Back off, you freaks ! Keep your hands off me !"

That's no use ! They're strong than me, and, laughing, they drag me to a scaffold, where they proceed to bind my ankles together with a chain, and when I'm locked and secured, they use a pulley to pull me off the ground, so that I'm now here defenseless, hung on this damn scaffold by my feet, high enough so that my fingers can't touch the ground even if I stretch - which I'd better not do, or my sweater would slide down and uncover my tummy, and it's damn cold in here. In front of me, I see Penny is undergoing the same torment, and under the boys' laughters we're facing each others, hung upside down on a scaffold. It's like a torture pole, but, hey, that's just another way they found to humiliate me. They're not really going to... with the phone... or are they ?

Terry walks to Alice and looks at each of us girls, without taking off his helmet.

"Violet... Penny... I should say I'm sorry for the brutal manner in which we've brought you here, but actually I don't owe you any excuses. On the contrary, one of you owes me excuses. So just say it right away, and I let you go."

"What the crap are you talking about ?" I yell, furious.

"I'm talking about the _bombe à marde _! I don't know how you did, but someone - one of you two - managed to have a_ criss de bombe à marde_blow into _my_ school, and have _me_ accused of it ! You know what I got ? Expelled for a week because of you !"

"Terry, what the shit is a _bomba marde _in the first place ?"

"It is shit indeed," Alice says quietly, triggering laughter among the boys. "It's a turd bomb."

I know it's very stupid of me to risk to anger him more than he already is, but I can't hold back a snigger at the idea of a turd bomb exploding in his school. Oh my God, that had to look like a National Day !

"Oh, makes you laugh ?" Devil asks, vexed. "Garry !"

Right then: "Aouch !" I gasp as the boy named Garry pokes my exposed waist with an iron stick. That bastard !

"This is ridiculous !" Penny suddenly exclaims. "How can you be so sure it's either one of us ? Half of the neighborhood hates you !"

"Yes, but none hates me more than you. You both had the best reasons to do that. After all, you two are really just two stubborn bitches, in your own personal kind. Violet, I made you fall from your throne as the big bad wolf of the neighborhood, and you hate me because I made you an insignificant whining dumpster-dweller."

I gasp again, but I cope with the insult and say nothing. What would be the use ? Get another poke ? I'm totally at his mercy, now. I hate him even more now, because once again, he has made me, Violet Beauregard, the girl who's not afraid of anything, a worthless distressed damsel.

"As for you, Penny," he continues, "you might have planned this bomb attack just in a... puerile revenge, for having revealed the truth behind your name."

"And that is not puerile, doing puns on my name ? I know I have a name that sounds like a whore's in French, but you know what, I..."

She shuts up when a boy beside her pokes her with a stick, just like me. That is actually pleasant. I almost want to tell them to poke her more, that snotty brat, but they would think I'm making fun of them. You must always be careful with bullies, they don't have a brain, so they're impredictible. Wait, did I really think that ?

"Now," he continues uninterrupted this time, "I give you one chance. Let the guilty denounce herself now, and she will get her deserved punishment. The innocent will be allowed to leave, of course, or to take part in the punishment if she wishes."

"What kind of punishment ?" I ask, already forgetting my distress and thinking of fun ways to torture a brat. I wonder, such a place must be infested with nettles...

"Oh, I won't waste the surprise, but I can tell you it's gonna be far less terrible than the punishment you will both get if no-one talks. We need to carry on justice no matter what..."

Uh-oh...

"If no-one speaks, you'll be both Chili Bowled !"

No ! I can't believe that, that's too gross to be true ! I yell:

"You'll never dare !"

"That is so ?" he replies in an eerily quiet manner. "Oh, wait, maybe you've not been told why I left Canada for this city in the first place..."

"What ? What do you mean ?"

"A guy I fought with, one day after school. I kind of won the fight, using my special finisher... shoved the phone up to twenty centimeters where the sun doesn't shine, the guy had to go to the hospital crawling on his hands, cause it hurt so much he couldn't sit or stand up. I learned later that they had to pick the phone out with a fishing line. And you know the funniest ? Someone tried to call at a moment, and his butt began to ring _Jingle Bells _in front of all the laughing doctors. I just had to leave the country after that to escape prosecutions. So, think you can withstand that, Miss Beauregard ?"

"That's bluff ! You'll never do that, because you'll have to run away again if you do !"

"If you're so confident, tell me... why are you so pale ? You're scared, Violet, I can feel that. And Penny, why don't you say anything ?"

He is suddenly interrupted by a sharp female voice, the voice of an adult woman coming closer, a confident voice tainted by an Eastern accent:

"So much for psychological torture ! All that thing is just pathetic scenery. You think you can really make people scared by just wearing a helmet and threatening them with a cell phone ? Oh, but these girls are just kids, easy preys. That is just petty sadism, Mr Red Devil. Worthless, unimpressive bullying. I'm ready to bet you never even use that Texas Chili Bowl on anyone. You're just showing off."

We all turn to look, surprised. The middle-aged woman walking towards us is tall and gorgeous like a supermodel, but clad in a male dark business suit that gives her a tough, tomboyish composure. Long raven hair... large and cold cat-like eyes, looking at each of us as though she were considering her potential preys. And, her most noticeable feature, her long steel-gray nails that shine like the frost. The woman from the cinema ! She's one of the mafia ! I stop breathing. What is she gonna do ? Kill us all ? She stops a few feet from us and says quietly:

"Now, you little _zadiry_, I recommand you to leave this place as soon as possible and free these little girls."

The gang laughs at this, but I don't. On the contrary, I have a chill when I think that they really don't know what kind of person they're dealing with.

"Or else, Wonder Woman ?" one of the boys says as he moves on and stands boldly before her. "What are you gonna do if we don't obey ?"

Oh, my... one dead boy. I want to close my eyes not to watch, but in the same time, I'm so deathly curious I just can't help but watch. The woman smiles, the kind of smile that makes you wet your pants, and says:

"You American children... you're all the same. All so arrogant, and disrespectful to grownups... you should learn to know your place."

Slash ! It happened in a very swift move and without a warning ! The woman has hit, as if she were trying to slap him, but on his chest rather than his face. There was a loud ripping noise. And now, the boy stands still, he doesn't seem hurt but he's not moving, and suddenly he starts to shake, and moan, in sheer terror. What has she done to him ? I don't understand at first, but when he weakly turns round, I can see that a serie of stripes has been cut in the front of his pleather jacket. Four clean and deep cuts that have simply slashed through the fabric. Four nails. At this moment, Alice and the boys speak faster than I think:

"What the Hell ! Who are you ?"

She smirks and reaches out to show her sharp silvery nails, undamaged by the terrible strike she has given to the boy: "I'm Catwoman. Hear me roar..."

I swear I've never seen a bunch of people running away scared so fast in my whole life. Even Devil gets freaked out by this sicko woman and her claw-like nails and runs without hesitation. I can't blame them, I would have run away too if I could, not only because of her freaky exhibition of strength, but also and mostly because I know exactly who this woman is ! Now they're all gone, and I and Penny are alone with her. Wait ! We're alone with her !

I can't control myself, suddenly I lose all form of conscious thinking and I panic and jerk and struggle, trying to break this chain and run as far as possible before she kills me ! Maybe if I use my flexibility to twist my bones and... no time to think of this, as the chain suddenly goes loose and I fall back on the ground, quite heavily. I look up, 'Catwoman' is standing before me, and looking down at me. I don't move. Okay, now she has untied me, what is she gonna do next ? I already see my throat being slashed open by her nails, but nothing of such actually happens. She just walks away, to Penny, and unties her too. Why is she helping us ? I get up and as she's about to leave without a word, I mumble a word of thank. I don't know why. I just thought it's the right thing to do. After all, dusk is falling, I'm scared, shocked and confused, I haven't a clue of what is going on here, so it's not the moment for clear thinking. So I thank her, and in response she comes close to me, and I stiffen in anticipation. She reaches out and I feel her sharp nails on my skin. I'm so paralyzed I can't even blink, this time it's sure, she's gonna claw my face off and it will hurt horribly. But, again, what I expected doesn't happen. Her hand just caresses my cheek with softness, and her nails don't cut, on the contrary they slide softly on my skin and it tickles a bit.

"Take care, baby," she whispers tenderly, and punctuates with a light pinch on my nose before she effectively walks away, leaving me alone and more puzzled than ever. This woman's behavior was totally incomprehensible. Who is she really ? Is she really a good guy, or a mafioso ? And why does she care so much about me ? And who, Heaven, who's responsible for that damn turd bomb prank ? I had planned to go rooftop-running with Matt tonight, and now I'm hurry to get there, for I could really need some sport to have a change of air. Penny comes to me, tottering. She's not hurt. That's what I thought first, but then I see why she's tottering: a dark stain on her jeans, on her inner thighs. She gives me a look that says she wishes she could just disappear right now, never to be heard of again.

"If you tell anyone about that, Violet," she pants. "Anyone... you're dead. Okay ?"

In normal times, I would have retorted something nasty and probably started a fight, but instead I just nod and agree. There are limits to what can be said or not on a courtyard. I'm cruel, but I have principles, and her situation is way too embarrassing for me to dare use it against her. We stand there, saying nothing, for a while, then, as it gets chillier and darker, we decide we'd better go home.

----------

On her side, Miss Shekochit walked out of the construction field to the street, and went to the black Mercedes where she took her place on the passenger's seat. She was greeted in by the harsh smell of the driver's Sobranie cigarette.

"I wouldn't want to criticize," Snake said, "but showing yourself up like that was a pretty bad move. We're supposed to tail Miss Senorm for two more weeks before the 'babysitting', and if we're discovered because they've seen you, it might compromise the operation."

"I know... sorry. I just couldn't stand seeing this girl being bullied by those pricks."

"Who, Penny ?"

"No, the other. The blond in the tracksuit."

"She's the girl who witnessed the shooting, the other day, isn't she ?"

"Yes, I think so. I got her name, by the way. It's Violet Beauregard."

"Good, now we know who is she, just in case she became an embarrassing element."

"I sure hope not. After all, she's so... so cute..."

Snake sighed. "Oh, no, don't tell me you have a crush again !"

"Well I'm sorry, I can't help with that !"

"She's way too young for you ! And this is an operation, we're supposed to make things seriously, how do you want us to work if you keep falling for the wrong girls ? Oh, crap, that's impossible to work with a..."

"Hey ! I know what you're about to say, and you'd better not. I'm proud of what I am and..."

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I got it. Let's go..."

----------

I take a deep breath, and I run and jump into empty space. Remembering my gymnastics lessons and using all the possibilities of my flexibility, I practically bounce on a streetlight and perform a serie of somersaults in the air, à la Spider-Man, before I catch a phone line in my fall to spin around and jump again, this time to land on an antenna that I drop from to arrive on a solid floor, in a perfect saddle split, just to impress a spectator that isn't here. There I am ! I've just crossed a suburban street from a rooftop to the other. I don't even feel any danger doing this, nor do I feel bothered by the cold air. It just feels so good being out at night again, roaming freely on the rooftops, too high for anyone to reach us ! Rooftops are what life should really be like. Total freedom. Matt quickly rejoins me, clad in his black tracksuit and blind mask.

"You know," he pants, breathless, "you're getting better at every leap you make !"

I'm glad to hear that. Actually, the more I get used to those street acrobacies, the more I get to think that my transformations do not only concern my flexibility and my skin color. Somehow, it's like my strength and my resistance to pain have also increased, even very slightly. I don't know, maybe it's a side effect or something... if Mike Teavee were here, I guess he could come up with an explanation. Anyway, the result is here: I can do stunts much more easily than I thought, while being much less tired than I thought.

"Where is it ?" Matt asks.

"A few blocks to the West. Not far from here."

We move on in this direction, to the construction field I've visited a few hours ago. As we're jumping from rooftops to phone poles to billboards or even trees, Matt begins to talk:

"Tell me what happened exactly."

"Well, that was so weird and... I didn't get anything, to be honest."

"Maybe it will make things clearer if you tell."

"I've been brought to the field by Devil."

"Red Devil ? What did he want ?"

"He said he was angry at someone who blew a turd bomb in his school and had him accused, and he wanted to find who it is. He had me and Penny Senorm brought to the field to explain, he thought it was either one of us. I still don't get who could have done it. I would have fought, but they were just... you know... too many."

"I understand. And next ?"

"There was this woman, the woman we saw the other day in Buckhead. She's in the mafia. She came and called them kids, she said they couldn't hurt anyone, and she ripped a boy's jacket into stripes with only her nails ! That scared them away, and then she just disappeared ! I mean, she didn't for a second look like she was really after me as I thought. I don't know what they really want, that's why I thought we could go back there and look for a clue, something."

"That is more the job of the police, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but Walt won't listen to me. He's too much into all the papers he has to write, and the papers he must get from the judge to have the right to investigate, and all... besides, this is really bugging me. I want to find out myself."

We finally arrive on a billboard, with a crane standing high in front of us, at the entrance of the field. We use Matt's cane grapnel to reach that crane, and then we gently slide down to the ground level, inside the field, among the abandoned, half-built raw concrete structures. I never paid attention by day, but I realize the place is quite eery by night, with all those unfinished buildings standing around us, as if trying to trap us inside a chaotic, dark labyrinth. I quickly take the light I brought with me and turn it on to chase these thoughts. We move around, and eventually reach the place where the encounter happened. The chains are still here, along with the black drum, the phones, and the tabasco sauce. Matt smells and asks, curious:

"What's the tabasco for ?"

"Don't ask." I shiver when I think about the ordeal this woman may have saved me from - though I'm pretty sure he would never have done it and only wanted to scare me.

"That's where you met her ?"

"Yes. You... sense something ?"

He smiles. "I don't have a spider sense, you know. But I'm searching."

And he goes down and begins to crawl around the place, caressing and stroking the frozen soil. I stand there, a little embarrassed and not knowing what to do. He looks like a wolf hunting down a prey, and whatever he's looking for, that must be something I'll never find.

"She was on a motorbike ?"

"No. It was Devil."

"Okay, so I guess the boots are his too."

"Wait, you're searching prints on the ground ?"

"Kid, you have no idea of how many things we can find by reading foot prints... she had high-heeled shoes ?"

"Yes ! But with a rather male-looking suit. You found her ?"

"Think so..."

He puts his nose close to the soil and takes a deep smell. "Her perfume is pretty faint. With the ice, it has almost vanished. But we can still follow her... come."

Matt stands up but remains in a crouching stance, so as not to lose his track, and I follow him as we slowly walk down the path that mysterious woman took earlier. I can't smell anything, but with my light I can distinguish her footsteps that remained carved on the frozen ground. We go on all the way till we're out of the field for the street, much better lit but almost as desert, apart from a few cars parked along the sidewalk. Matt stands up.

"Lost her."

Damn ! And, because it's a street, we can't follow her steps anymore. I give a look around, searching for a clue without much hope. We can't stay down on the street for too long: as we're both dressed in black and wearing cowls, a passerby may think we're burglars and call the cops. So I hurry, kinda frustrated to have lost the only track we had, when a sudden golden gleam draws my attention on an empty parking space along the opposite sidewalk. It's just a very small object, on the ground, reflecting the light with a faint golden shine. I don't hesitate and cross the street to go see what it is, and I pick it up. I first thought it was coin, but it's not that at all. It's a much too familiar object that is a direct proof the mafia was here.

"What did you find ?" Matt asks as he rejoins me.

"It's a cigarette filter," I murmur. "A Sobranie Black Russian. One of the crooks smoked that the first time I met them..."

He immediately kneels down to smell and touch the asphalt. "Tyre prints," he says. "Large tyres, for a large, heavy car..."

"Their black Mercedes ?"

"Possibly, but I cannot tell for sure. That's the flaw when you're blind... wait ! Somebody's coming !"

I stand up and turn round. Oh, crap ! A group of young men's coming towards us, all with shaven or punkstyle hair, and torn jackets. Don't really look like boy-scouts. I stiffen.

"Matt... I think we have a problem..."

"Don't worry... keep it cool, and everything will be fine."

One of the men, a guy with dirty long hair tied by a red headband who must be their leader, comes closer and speaks:

"My, my, what we got here ! Two ninjas in the city !"

"And might we know who you are, gentlemen ?"

They all burst in laughter. "Gentlemen !" the leader howls. "That's first time we're called this way, lad ! We're the Rogues ! And don't you forget it."

He punctuates his words by producing a butterfly knife and swinging it in front of us expertly. Oh, man, I didn't have enough this afternoon, and I had to come back tonight !

"A street gang ?" I ask. "But there ain't no street gang in this neighborhood ! You're from East Atlanta ?"

"We decided to take some vacation, visitin' another place. Looks nice, here. But why should it matter, lass ?"

He swings his knife closer to me, and I swallow hard, it makes no doubt he's after me. I see Matt tense, beside me, ready to come in action. But does he know how to fight ? I remember he said he doesn't like martial arts... if I end up fighting alone against all of them, I'll most likely get...

"Hey !" the leader exclaims as he looks in my eyes through the opening in my cowl. "Lass, didn't you force too much on the make-up ?"

"Why should it matter, lad ?" I reply, boldly. He laughs coarsely.

"You got spirit, blueberry-pie ! Okay, spit out your cash and we'll let you go with your boyfriend."

"Hey !" I shout, embarrassment taking over my fear. "He's not my boyfriend !"

The gang leader suddenly freezes and practically turns livid. Something is terrifying it. I realize I have raised my hand when I shouted, and he's terrified by the cigarette filter I'm still holding between my fingers.

"_Zmeya_ !" he yells as he jerks back. "Where the fuck did you find this ?"

"Do not panick," Matt interferes, "we're not going to hurt you..."

"Oh yeah ? And you think I'll trust you, dressed like ninjas ? Damn Russians !"

I can hardly believe the hallucinating scene taking place before me: the gang members, who a few minutes ago were overly cocky and ready to brawl for our money, are now standing at a distance from us, moaning with fear like little girls, looking at us as if we were the Bogeyman.

"We're not criminals," Matt says softly, trying to reassure them. "We're not even Russians, we're Americans. I'm of Irish ancestry."

"And I'm half-French !" I add. "Besides, I'm just a kid !"

"Why did you think we were of the mafia ?"

The young men keep moaning and shaking their heads, none of them wants to speak out, except their leader:

"That cigarette... one of these guys kept smoking the same brand."

"When ?" I ask abruptly, suddenly losing patience. I'm too curious to hold it any longer. "When did you meet them ?"

"Why do you want to know ? We're just a small street gang from the East, we may have done a few things, done drugs, but we're not fucking psycho criminals, we don't want any problem !"

"It's okay !" Matt exclaims, and I see why he wants to become a lawyer, he's so good at calming people down and putting them back on tracks. "We're on the same sides. I and my friend are suspecting the mafia to want to kidnap someone we know, and to prevent this, we want to collect all the info we can get on them. Trust us."

"Okay... okay... but if anything happens and the mob gets to know, you've never heard of us."

"No problem."

"Okay... shit, I hate to have to remember this... you've heard about the gang wars in East Atlanta, last week-end ?"

"Yes."

"We were there ! That's why we left. You see, there were several small gangs like us in that neighborhood. Us, the Rogues, and there were also the Riffs, the Furies, the Dominators... but that was no big deal, just a few random gangs. We were organizing a gathering, to set a feud right, something that was supposed to go smoothly, and these guys arrived without warning ! There was a Hummer, and a big truck, full of soldiers on crack, and they were no cops, I can guarantee that. They gave massive assault on several buildings, without giving us any chance. Machine guns, shotguns, grenades, one even had a flamethrower ! I still don't know how we did, but we left on time, we're the only survivors."

I'm totally sickened. It's even more violent than what I read in the news !

"Why... why did they kill everyone ?"

"How the shit could I know ? Figure we didn't stop and ask !"

"Who is this_Zmeya_ you mentioned before ?" Matt asks, oddly not so shocked by this horrid tale.

"We heard them talk, during the slaughter. We heard some names. _Zmeya_ is the guy who smoked those cigarettes. A daffy skinny young guy, in a leather suit, looked like Alice Cooper or something like that. He had no guns, he just arrived with a long whip, killed five guys in a move."

That is the guy who drove the car, I briefly talked to the other day. Then he really is a killer. If Connie knew that, she would have a heart attack !

"And what about a woman with silver nails ?" I ask. "Very tall, and very pretty, with metal or silver nails ?"

"Oh... her. Yes, we saw her too, but she didn't fight. Just stayed beside the truck, watching, and she looked like she was enjoying the show. An insane-looking woman, I can tell you that. How did they call her already ? Miss Sheky or something ?"

Another gang members spits out the name as if it was poison: "Miss Shekochit."

We stay with them for a few more minutes, but they don't tell us anything more interesting, mostly going in horrid description of the bloody battle that nearly make me sick. When we're back up on the rooftops, on our way home, I'm terrified, terrified at all those terrible things the mob is capable of that I never dared imagine. But I also feel a little relieved. Because now, I know them more. I know names. It's not much, but it's a major start.

"We need to do something," Matt says gravely. "Before that Snake gets to know and comes after us."

"Snake ? Who is that ?"

"_Zmeya_. It means Snake in Russian."

"You speak Russian ?"

"Had a Russian girlfriend, in New York."

"Okay. What do you suggest we do ?"

"Tell the cops."

"You're crazy ! You've never seen any mafia movie ? That's the best way they can find us !"

"But there's not much else we can do. Listen, apparently they're after you, I know you feel in danger. That's why I'll go tell the cops myself. They don't know me, there won't be any danger for me."

He comes and gently puts his hands on my shoulders to keep me from shaking. "I promise, everything is gonna be okay. You'll be safe. It's okay..."

"I... yes... I, that's okay. Thanks, Matt. Thanks."

"Good. But I'll take you home first. By the way, sorry for the turd bomb."

"What ? It was you !"

"Well, yeah. I wanted to make him pay, for what he did to you. Looks like it didn't quite go on as planned."

"And... and the dojo... they accepted me back, without explanation."

"That was me, too."

"But why ? Why did you do all that for me ?"

"I don't know... you're my friend, I wanted to help you. I just thought it was the right thing to do. It was justice."

"Matt..."

For a moment I stay silent. I want to cry, but crying and thanking him again and again would look too melodramatic, and I have my pride.

"No," I say dreamily, "nothing..."

He gives me a warm smile. He understands.

----------

_Saturday, February 27th._

Denise was still sleeping, but Julia was used to it. She always woke up earlier than everyone else. That gave her time to prepare breakfast, and that's exactly what she was doing right now, in the pretty appartment the two women shared in a wealthy street in Edgewood, just above their beauty salon. That was quite a bright day, though rather chilly, even if for Julia, who came from a place where winters could go minus a hundred degrees - Fahrenheit of course - that was not a problem. She was just in a good mood, preparing coffee and toasts for her girlfriend while listening to her message box. One message came particularily interesting:

_Miss Shekochit, this is Mr Prinzmetal speaking. I wish to inform you and your boss that our British customer's command has been taken into account, and two prototypes will soon be operational and ready for testing. If these prototypes are met with satisfaction by our customer, we will be able to start mass production. However, due to the important quantity ordered, I'm afraid the whole command will most likely take at least a year to fulfill. Anyway, please inform your boss that if things go on as planned, the two prototypes will be ready and delivered to your warehouse in Atlanta, for you to ensure their shipment to England, on Friday, March 11th, that is, in two weeks._

Good news, Julia thought. After breakfast, when they have opened the salon, she should find the time to go and tell the Boss. They had to start as soon as possible to have all the logistics necessary to ensure that shipment. Besides, the Boss had a lot of problems these days, with his businesses, he was craving for every benefits that would allow him to put an end to his prostitution network that annoyed him greatly, and the tailing of little Penny Senorm was constantly hampered by this obnoxious motorbike rider, Red Devil, and that blond chick who always happened to bump into them by accident. Of course, they could get rid of everyone right now, but that would be an act of war against the police, and they had to keep quite a low profile since the blood baths of the Federal Bank and the gang wars.

Julia put the jam on the table and served the coffee, and gave a look at the newspaper. The article on page three caught her eyes: the United States officially declared it would forbid shipments of luxury goods to North Korea as a penalty for their nuclear program. Good ! Very good ! That would sure interest the Boss greatly ! She took note that when she saw him, she had to tell him about that too, and...

The jingle of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Who could it be so early in the morning ? Doubtful, the woman went to the door and opened. Oops. It was a young police officer, a rookie who still didn't get rid of all his acnea and looked quite uneasy in his blue uniform.

"Miss Julianna Shekochit ?" he asked.

"It's me."

That was always very amusing: Julia was so tall most men had to look up when they talked to her, and they were often quite uneasy with it. Plus, she was really attractive, and she saw very well in the eyes of this kid that he was wondering what was behind her long kimono-like morning gown.

"Miss, I... uh... we're doing an investigation, and... uh, I would like to ask you a few questions."

"An investigation ? Nothing too serious, I hope ?"

"Well, uh... may I get in ?"

She let him in. His first contact with the inside - a portrait of Lenin on the wall of the living room - was quite a shock. Trying to look as professional as possible, he took a paper and read it as he asked:

"So, you're from Kazakhstan... obtained your Green Card eighteen months ago... now you're working as a manicure in Denise Santino's beauty salon, that's it ?"

"Yes."

"Kazakhstan... it's in the Middle East, that's it ? Close to Iraq ?"

"What ? Are you kidding me ?" she sighed with contempt, making the kid even more uneasy. "You Americans... you're all the same ! You only know Kazakhstan through _Borat_, and you couldn't put your own country on a map !"

"Uh, well... anyway, you're also sharing this appartment with Miss Santino... what is the exact nature of your relationship with your employer ?"

"I'm her girlfriend... does that make a problem, officer ?"

"No ! No, not at all..."

"You're sweating, officer."

"Yes, it's damn hot in here..."

"The heater's not even on."

"Forget about it. Where were you yesterday, at about five in the afternoon ?"

"I was in that neighborhood, at the other side of the city, to visit a friend. Why ?"

"We have... strange testimonies... some people who saw you in an abandoned construction field."

"Oh, that. Yes, I was."

"What were you doing there ? Quite an odd place for a..."

"For a woman, I know. I guess you have everything in your report already. I was walking back to my car when I came across a group of teenagers bullying two little girls, so I decided to stop by and teach the brats a lesson."

"Yes, that's what the report mentioned."

"What exactly am I accused of ?"

"Nothing... for the moment. But, we are trying to gather informations that could allow us to locate the Kazakh crime syndicate that arrived recently..."

"And I'm on the suspect list, just because I'm a Kazakh ?"

The young cop gasped. "I didn't mean that ! We have... informations that may lead us to think..." he didn't know what to say. The reality was that they got the woman's name by an anonymous tip, which of course he couldn't talk about in front of her, so he had to improvise. "You understand, Miss, there is an unusually high number of Kazakh immigrants in this city, and some of them are illegals, and since the catastrophe at the bank, we..."

"You know, officer, with what you said I could sue you for racial discrimination, and I would win. But I'll play fair and I'll let you go if you promise not to come and bother me again."

The cop shrunk. She smiled. Cops in this country were so easy to scare it was almost pathetic.

"One last question, Miss ?"

"Go ahead."

"Where were you, Wednesday, February 17th ?"

The day the grocer got accidently shot. Luckily, she wasn't there when it happened.

"I was working at the salon. Denise can prove it. Do you want to ask her ?"

And without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the bedroom. Waw ! the cop thought, relieving some pressure. What a woman ! Had to be quite a cop hater, she had done everything not to make him feel at ease ! It seemed to take some time, so the young man decided to give a look at the book shelves to wait. He took out the biggest book and looked at the hard cover: _Das Kapital_, by Karl Marx. The book was unusually heavy, and looked terribly boring. He was about to open it when Miss Shekochit suddenly appeared behind him and snatched it from his hands.

"She's coming in a minute."

"Oh," he stammered in response, "t-t-that won't be n-n-necessary, I think. I have all the elements, so I'm just... going. Good day, Miss."

"Good day, officer."

She watched him go and shut the door behind him, and she finally sighed in relief. That young guy had almost found it ! She opened the big book in her hands, just to make sure, but no, he hadn't touched it. For the book was not a real one, it was a fake, a disguised box, to hide her massive Magnum revolver, for which of course she didn't have a licence.

----------

An hour later, Julia was in her car and was entering East Atlanta. The neighborhood didn't look so special at first sight. People just did not realize this part of the city was already under the syndicate's control, since they properly eliminated every little sign of potential competition. Not very subtle, but it had shown its effect. On her way to the Boss's appartment, she passed in front of Serik's garage and Vassily's martial arts shop. Typical. All the important members of the syndicate ran small businesses like this, as a cover-up. The woman sniggered when she thought of all those flamboyant and ridiculous Hollywood-style mafias: none of that existed. The Boss didn't live in a dark, big manor or in a cottage where he spent the whole day smoking Di Nobili cigars. And they didn't have any big, underground base to meet up and prepare their operations. No, they all had a civil life and jobs, spread over the city, making them much more difficult to spot. But if there was a place they should call their own, their "headquarters", that would be East Atlanta, where most of their stuff was, hence the need to kill off all those street gangs, just in case they got too nosy.

When the Boss arrived in town with his newly acquired American citizenship, the first thing he did was to invest his father's heritage in a coffee shop that was also a small restaurant of Kazakh cuisine, _The Sun Of Orient_. He was officially known to the authorities as Sergey Gurlukovitch, and Julia smiled even more at the thought that so far, nobody seemed to notice he had borrowed the name directly from _Metal Gear Solid_. That was when the adventure started from them. They were very few, at the beginning. Just a handful Kazakh expatriates with the money and dreams of their late godfather, a secure network of friends in the foreign world, and the huge opportunities offered by this country. Quickly they had grown, in money, investing in more and more flourishing businesses, and in men, thriving to gather fellow Kazakhs who had difficulties being integrated in society, and enrolling them to their cause. If the Boss really needed hands, he would sometimes allow Russian and Turkmen immigrants into the syndicate, though he was always defiant to foreigners. But once inside, no-one really cared what part of the former USSR you were from: you were just an addition to the family, a little brother or sister, for that's what they truly were, deep inside, in spite of all their misdeeds and the harshness of the hierarchy: a brotherhood, a _Bratva_ !

That was two years ago, already. For two years they had remained in the shadow, only honest American citizens with a funny accent, dormant, like sleeper cells waiting for their turn, when they gathered enough money, enough men, enough material, to sum up enough power, to rise up and organize themselves into what should be considered a mafia, as was the dream of late General Stoyanovitch. And this time was come. There was still a long way to go, though. They were an awfully small organization, especially when compared to the huge Italian families, and there influence over political life - the most powerful of all weapons - was insignificant, even at the city's level. But they were optimistic. _Y Moskwa nie srazu stroilas ! _Moscow wasn't built in a single day !

She arrived in his place and parked her car in front of a shabby appartment building, with clotted paint and walls darkened by lack of maintenance, surrounded by a rusty fence. The perfect type of building, nobody would ever think of looking for a crime leader in such a ghetto ! She hoped he was at home. He was seldom at his sinister appartment, and when he was not out with his boys on a mission, he would spend most of his time between his restaurant (and the illegal gambling room in its basement), his office carefully hidden in another part of the neighborhood, the drug lab (disguised, of course, as a plain drugstore), or their warehouse in the industrial area. But when she tapped at the door of appartment 22, she was lucky to receive a response. She came in, and was unexpectedly greeted by a young blond woman who was heading to the bathroom. Never saw that girl before... anyway, she made her way to the bedroom, which was literally drowned into a shroud of choking cigarette smoke, so thick in fact, that she could barely see her Boss, still in bed, with another blond girl lying by his side. Mmh, two pretty girls... you bet he was still in bed, he didn't have much of a rest, last night !

"Good morning, Boss," she addressed him in Kazakh.

"You can speak in English," he answered, "the girl won't get it, she doesn't speak the language. She and her friends are German exchange students. Besides, our readers won't get a thing if we decide to speak in Kazakh, that would be just lame."

"Oh, okay. Anyway, I got some fresh news for you. First, Mr Prinzmetal just confirmed the delivery of two prototypes for our British client. They will be sent at our warehouse on March 11th."

"March 11th ?"

"Is there a problem with that ?"

"I have a snitch at the courthouse. Sultan and Jamila's trial will begin on March 12th, so we'll have to kidnap Penny Senorm the day before to pressure on the attorney."

"Do I have to differ the delivery, then ?"

"No. On the contrary, if everyone's attention's on us and Penny, nobody will care about one truck or two leaving the city. Just send a team to secure a boat in Savannah as soon as possible, we'll go on this way. What's more ?"

The woman produced the sheet of newspaper she read earlier, about the North Korean affair, and handed it to him. He read carefully.

"Yes," he mumbled, "yes... we could provide Kim with all his luxury goods pretty easily, but what shall we gain ?"

"They make cocaine in North Korea, Boss. Lots of cocaine they can hardly sell anywhere."

"Oh. Good point. But we need to find someone who could secure a communication line with Pyongyang. Like a hacker or something."

"I've heard about a teenager from Denver who's supposedly a genius in all computer matters. He shall do it for us, in exchange for a substantial wage."

"Do what you deem necessary."

"I'm on my way... oh, and one more thing: I was checked by a cop this morning."

The Boss bit the butt of his cigarette and blasphemed in Kazakh. She continued:

"There's very, very little suspicion, don't worry. But I think it's someone from the construction field who somehow got my name."

"Must be this little punk you scared away... the same one who beat us at the race, Red Devil. Thought you were persecuting him because he beat us, and he went to the cops. Okay, put him under surveillance, in case he'd try to mess up with us again."

"What about the other one, Violet Beauregard ? Now we have her name, we shall find where she lives with ease, but if we watch after Devil, we won't have enough men to follow her too."

"Then forget about her. I think we have overestimated her, if she were to be troublesome, she would have done something long ago. She's just a kid, we just scared the crap out of her, she's too scared to tell anyone and that's all. She will only keep what she saw as a dark little secret that will haunt her to womanhood until she finds a man who will be able to... whatever, just forget about her."

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Sorry if you may think there's too much focus on the mob, so far. I just wanted to show how well they're organized and all, for they're gonna be Violet's main enemies. Besides, I just love these guys. But there will be more focus on Violet from now on, and her superhero business is not far from beginning !


	12. Vigilantes

_Friday, March 11th._

"Violet ?"

I don't pay attention.

"Vi-o-let ?"

Still don't reply, I don't even think I heard.

"Violet !"

This time I startle as if a bomb had blown into the diner and look directly at Brownie, sitting in front of me.

"Uh, yeah ? You just called me ?" I ask innocently, trying to hide how nervous I am. He gives me a shy smile, half-amused and half-annoyed, and says:

"You've been looking through that window for about ten minutes as if I didn't exist, and you haven't even touched your milk-shake yet. Is there something wrong ?"

"Oh !" I shake my heads and smile foolishly as if to chase my dark thoughts away. "No, it's okay."

Yes. Really, it's okay. How could it be better ? I'm having an afterschool date in a diner with Brownie Roarke ! Out of desperation, I asked my mom for advices and decided to follow her method: it took me two weeks of harassment to finally persuade him to come on a date with me, and now we're having a great time drinking milk-shake, so why the Hell am I so worried ? Because this date is a real disaster. We have not exchanged more than four phrases since it began, and it's not because I'm shy or something. I look at him and smile, but this smile is forced. Somehow, he doesn't make me blush like he used to. It's just like that drink, I take a sip from it, and it doesn't taste as great as before. I know exactly why, it's because all my mind is preoccupied by something I feel totally powerless against, and it's been haunting me for two weeks, reducing me to a nervous wreck that shakes all the time and startles at every loud noise like a baby. Gladly, my foundation base and contacts won't let him see my bloodshot eyes and wrinkles, because my nights have been increasingly short these days.

The sound of someone entering the restaurant gives me such a start that I cough swallowing. Brownie immediately reaches out to tap my back, but when our eyes meet, he freezes and, uneasy, withdraws and sits back down. I want to tell him something, but I feel so ashamed of my weird conduct that I can't find anything to say. So instead, I focus on the new costumer. Whoops ! A tall, burly guy in jeans and cow-boy boots, with a worn-out denim shirt, leather gloves, mutton chops, and a mass of hair so thick it should rather be called a mane. I tremble more and try not to show it as I keep observing this beardy dude. Looks like he could be one of the mafia's men... he comes closer and I notice his belt buckle is shaped like a hammer and sickle. Oh, shit, he _is_ a mafia guy ! What's he gonna do ? Is he... he greets some friends of his and sits at the counter and orders a drink, and I let out a huge sigh of relief when I recognize a thick French accent. Safe ! He's not one of the Kazakhs. And it's been like that for two weeks, since the day I had that spooky encounter with Miss Shekochit, the silver-nailed lady... I didn't sleep at night because I had nightmares about the Kazakhs finding my house and breaking in to kidnap me. And the day, I would throw nervous glances around and startle at every minute, because I always expected a gangster to jump at me from every street corner, and at every noise, even the faintest like footsteps or the sound of a customer entering a diner, I believed it was one of them, following me. I've grown afraid of everything, and to be honest it's not all paranoia, because I know they are still following me: the black Mercedes. Who is parked at the exact same place on my way to school, in front of the Starbucks shop, every morning ? The black Mercedes. Who is driving around the school when I get in, every morning ? The black Mercedes. And who is always parked at the exact same place, along the sidewalk, some twenty meters from the school, every evening when I get out ? The black Mercedes. They're after me, I know that. They know my name, that's for sure. But they do nothing. This is a real torture for me. It's like when a cat looks at you with wide eyes and starts purring. When the cat does that, you know he's about to jump at your face. You can be sure he _will_ do it... but you have no way to know _when_ he will do it. That's a bit like the way I feel now. If I've been looking through the window since we sat down, it's precisely because I was expecting this car, and I actually saw it pass twice, and I even saw Red Devil pass.

Oh, Red Devil ! I almost forgot him ! He's been growing more and more terrible since that very day in the construction field. Before, he could be nice as well as a meanie. Now, he's just a complete asshole and there's no more Mr Nice Guy. Rumor has it that he's turning paranoid, claiming that he feels he's being followed by someone all the time. I never told him, but I must be the only one in town to believe him, though I still can't understand why the mafia would be interested in that guy. Maybe it's because he beat them at a race ? Anyway, he's overstressed, and because he "likes" me (in his own, fucking twisted way), he decided to make me his little toy to play with to relieve some pressure: everytime I bump into him, I have to pay, and if I don't have the money - and even if I do, depends on how he feels like - he and his henchboys always come up with new "penalties", like when they made me run a marathon barefoot in the snow and laughed when my feet turned blue (gladly, they all thought it was because of the cold), or when they tied me down on a street ludge that was itself tied on the back of Devil's bike - I'll let you imagine the joy ride that ensued - or, they all thought this one was funny, one day they hung me by my ankles to the basketball hoop just before the training began, and they took pictures when Brownie had to use a ladder to come and untie me. At least, this one allowed me to get closer to him, but God it was so embarrassing ! Oh, and guess what... remember Kevin and Bill ? Yes, you know, the two fat bastards Devil beat like crap a while ago ? They're part of his gang, now. Yay ! Someday, I shall take revenge on them, and God I swear, it's gonna be a bloodbath Charles Bronson is a Care Bear in comparison !

But so far, I've been basically spending my time being worried about the mafia and going to and from school by the rooftops as much as I can, to avoid bumping into Devil, and when I can't sleep at night, I try to persuade Matt to come along for a run, or I go alone when he doesn't feel like it. I put on my dark suit and my woolen mask and I run on rooftops, the way I was taught, until I reach East Atlanta. I go there to look for the mafia. They scare me, but somehow I'm fascinated by them. It's quite logical, I think. It's like "know your enemy". They're not easy to spy. First, the neighborhood is wide, and they're fast and they seem to be constantly moving, that makes them very hard to spot and follow. I haven't progressed much in these researches in two weeks. Even when I'm with Matt and we try to follow them, we lose them too quickly and get lost in some mazy network of alleys with not a clue on where they've gone. We didn't find any mansion or even any kind of big house they could use as a headquarters, but we've noticed they seem to be spending a good deal of their time in a restaurant called _The Sun Of Orient_, or in a drugstore or in a sex-shop. Ew, a sex-shop ! I don't wanna know what they're doing inside. That's about all we know, so far. We don't try to investigate further - we're not crazy enough to rush into the wolf's den - and reporting to the police without proofs is no use. So we're kind of stuck now, and I don't know what...

"Well," Brownie says, bringing me back to reality, "it's getting late, I think I'd better..."

I blink. Dang ! We've been staring at each others silently for how long ? My milk-shake is almost empty and it's getting dark outside. Oh no ! This was supposed to be my dream date and my mind was completely out of it all along ! He puts money on the table for the drinks and begins to say goodbye, when I suddenly reach out in panic and grab his arm.

"Wait ! Ya know, Brownie, it's just early, we've got all the time."

"No, I'm sorry, but I really have to go home now."

"Okay, then, maybe some other day we could do it again, or maybe we could go to the ice rink or the movies..."

"Listen, Violet, I don't want to hurt you. You're a nice girl, really, much nicer than I thought, but you're just... too weird for me. Sorry..."

He begins to walk away, and I feel like I'm standing dead.

"No, wait !"

He turns back at me and says:

"Good night, Violet."

And he goes out. I fucked up my date. Completely. Missed it all the line. I can't believe it... I still stand paralyzed between the counter and the table, with some of the customers throwing amused looks at me, the girl who was dumped by her date in the middle of the restaurant, when the French dude in denim shirt passes beside me and comments:

"_Jeune fille_, that must be the lousiest flirt I've seen in a while... and believe me I know quite a lot about this."

I say nothing. If I open my mouth now, I know I'm gonna cry or throw a tantrum or something, so I just walk silently out of the diner and on the way home. On the other sidewalk, I see Penny go in the opposite direction. We've been avoiding each others since the construction field incident. I wave at her. She doesn't see me. Oh, whatever. I just go on my way.

----------

Indeed Penny had not seen the girl, and was just walking her way to where her driver was supposed to be waiting for her to take her home. The street was dark and oddly lonely. There was not a sound ! The young girl shivered as if she predicted something would happen. She didn't like that, so quiet, so desert... if only there were a few people. Oh, well, her driver would arrive in a few minutes, anyway, it's not like something could happen to her in so little time...

"Dammit ! Oh, shit I'm tired of those German pieces of scrap they call cars !"

Penny, who had been staring at her feet all along, looked up to that screaming fury and saw, a dozen meters from her, a redhead woman in her twenties who was standing alongside a black Mercedes and apparently cursing at it in English and in another language that was unknown to the girl. The effect was pretty comical and gave Penny a relief, and she immediately felt a sympathy with the woman.

"Hi there, Miss !" she called out. "Having a problem ?"

The woman sighed with exhaustion and forced a smile at the girl:

"Yes ! My car... broken ! It won't start again !"

Penny stepped closer and gave it a look.

"That's odd... I mean it's such a gorgeous car ! Is there anything I can do to help ?"

"Not unless you're an expert in mechanics..."

"Oh, wait !" she took out her cell phone. "I'm gonna call my driver, maybe he has some stuff."

"I already got a tool box. It's on the back seat, would you go for it ?"

"Sure."

Her phone still in hand, the girl willingly opened the back door, looked inside, and jerked back in fear with a gasp when she saw, instead of a tool box, two gleaming yellow eyes staring at her. She turned round and was about to scream at the woman that there was a monster in her car, when quite unexpectedly, the woman gave her a karate kick on the chest that cut off her breath before she could utter a word. With eyes grown twice their size out of surprise, the young girl practically took off and dove backwards, straight into the car. What exactly happened next, she didn't know, for she was already unconscious when she landed on the back seat. Her cell phone fell on the wet sidewalk and remained there, forgotten.

----------

My arms are on fire. I breathe loudly, and pull. Eleven. The metal bar in my hands gets heavier by the second, I'm sweating all over and grimacing with pain, but it makes me feel so much better ! I breathe, bring the bar as close to my chest as possible, and pull again. Twelve ! Worn down but relieved, I put the bar back in place and get out of my weight training bench to stretch. Wow ! That was some good work-out ! Everyone finds it incredible that the garage is large enough to contain the bench and all the work-out stuff _and_ the car, but Mom has a small car on purpose. It's not only because of me, it's her job to sell all this equipment, after all. I look at the weights I put on the bar and count. And I count again just to be sure, but no, that's true. 74 kilograms. Oh my God ! Two weeks ago, I couldn't lift more than 60 kilograms for twelve reps. And today, my, 74 for twelve reps ! That makes one more kilogram per day ! I don't know if you're into weightlifting, but let me tell you this progress is _huge_. Especially considering that I didn't train more than usual. So that was not an impression, I'm really growing stronger and stronger without knowing why... I've got to ask Charlie about it. Good thing is, with all the sweat I let out, I don't even think about Brownie anymore. Nevermind, I'm too good for him anyway.

I go back into the house, Mom is cooking dinner. I head to the bathroom for a good, relaxing shower, and then go to my room. I love evenings, when I just had my shower, cause I don't have to stand all this paint on my skin anymore, and I can finally feel like myself. I sit on my desk and take a three-page letter I'm writing for Charlie. Of course, the first point of these letters was to ask for candy, but for me it's much more than that. I write everything in my letters. How my life is going, how I feel at school, my new friends, even "girls' problems", everything. Maybe he doesn't give a shit, but I'm sure it's not the case. I mean, even during the Tour, I never saw such a sweet, caring person, and it's a shame I bullied him. The kind letters he sent me afterwards made him my favorite confidant. Like a diary who actually answers and gives me advices. I think he likes that I trust him and is glad we could become friends, even if he won the contest. Apparently, I'm the only one of the four to do that. Last week, I even received a sweet letter from Mr Wonka himself where he told me not to lose hope, that he was about to find a cure for my skin, even if his researches were still not very satisfying - the last Oompa Loompa who tried needed a whole three days to have his skin stuck back on his flesh - and, now I tend to think I misjudged the man. There's no reason to hate him, after all... anyway, I take a pen and add a new paragraph to my letter:

_Charlie, would you ask something to Mr Wonka for me ? It's quite hard to explain, I mean, maybe you'll think I'm crazy or something, but, since I've had this, you know, since I'm as flexible as a rubber strip, I got a feeling that I'm also getting stronger, physically. It began when I was rooftop-running with Matt, and at first I thought it was just my imagination, but right now as I'm writing, I've just done a work-out session and discovered I can lift much more than usual on a bench. So I was wondering if it's like another side effect of my incident at the Factory, because I don't have any other explanation. I also think I'm getting tougher, I feel less pain and..._

"Violet ! Come here, please !"

I startle on my chair. Mom just shouted from the living room as if she had seen a ghost. I put down my pen and go to see her, a little worried. I have not done anything wrong, so what's going on ? She's here, standing in front of the TV, the remote control in her hands, and she's looking at me with wide, concerned eyes.

"Uh, Mom ? Is there anything..."

"Dear... do you happen to know a little girl named Penelope Senorm ?"

"Penny ? Why, yeah, she's in my class..."

"Then you'd better watch... I turned on the TV to watch _Desperate Housewives_, and I saw this..."

I come closer with apprehension, and Mom puts her hands on my shoulders, as if to comfort me. I already don't like what I'm about to see... there's a picture of Penny on the screen, and I hear a journalist's voice say:

"Penelope Senorm, aged 13, daughter of district attorney George Senorm, has mysteriously disappeared this evening, on her way home from a café where she had a drink with her friends. As of now, no serious explanations have been found about her disappearance, however the possibility of a kidnapping is not to be ignored. Her family refused to comment on the situation for the moment, but we are calling for witnesses: according to her friends, the girl was walking home alone, and she was wearing a pink and light blue dress, a blue leather blazer, white stockings, and red shoes with hearts on the toes. If you have seen a girl matching with the picture or the description in the last few hours, please contact 911 immediately. Even the slightest details could help retrieve this girl before it is too late."

I stop breathing. That is... that is just too much ! No, not Penny ! It's not the first time I see such a report, but before, it was always a kid I never heard about. Here, it's much too close to me ! And I think I know who kidnapped her. After all, they've been passing round the diner quite often, just before I saw her. They were... hey, wait ! Penny was with me in the construction field when that Kazakh woman showed up. And Matt gave her name to the police so... they're discarding the witnesses ! That's why they've kidnapped Penny ! And then it's my turn, this time I'm sure of that ! I begin to cry out of despair, and Mom has a hard time stroking my hair and kissing my forehead and saying reassuring words until I finally relax and let myself being soothed. She gently picks me up and lies me down on the sofa. I've stopped crying, but I'm still tearful and shaking.

"It's okay," she murmurs, "Mommy's there, don't worry. I'm sure your friend is okay and she will sleep in her bed tonight. You have nothing to be afraid of..."

Sweet words, I think somberly, but they won't have any sort of effect in front of a leather-clad card-carrying psychopath from the mafia when he comes for me.

"Just relax, I'm gonna make some tea, and then we'll have dinner..."

She gives me a last kiss and gets up, leaving me alone in the room. Oh, my, what kind of trouble did I get myself into ? I notice a newspaper on the coffee table and reach out for it, maybe some reading will change my mind. I stop shaking all at once. Oh, yes, it did change my mind. Just reading the four-word title of an article did change my mind for good:

_Kazakh Couple On Trial._

I read the whole article carefully, and suddenly, I'm not afraid anymore. Now I understand !

"Gonna see Matt, Mom !" I shout as I put on my shoes and rush outside without giving her a chance to reply. I'm on speed ! I run for the next house and burst in without even knocking, arriving straight into Matt's living room as the young man startles and drops his dinner on the carpet.

"Got something to tell you !"

He sighs. "Whatever it is, Violet, I really hope for your personal safety that it's worth wasting that splendid piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken ! So what is it ?"

"Check this out !"

I throw the newspaper on the table in front of him, he doesn't even give it a look and says, annoyed:

"Oh, funny. Really funny."

It takes a few seconds to remember. "Whoops ! Sorry, I forgot ! Anyway, I just learned that Penny, the girl who was with me at the construction field, she just disappeared and nobody knows why."

"Yes, and then ?"

"This paper says the two mobsters who were captured a while ago during the robbery at the bank will be put on trial tomorrow. Don't you get what that means ?"

"Not really, I'm afraid."

"Penny's father is the district attorney ! It's obvious ! The mafia kidnapped her to pressure on him for he releases them during the trial ! That was all about Penny, all along ! When they kept following, when they were always around the school, it was because of Penny ! When the woman showed up at the field, it was for Penny ! Not me ! I got nothing to do in their business, I was just at the wrong place at the wrong place ! The mafia was after her, not me !"

"Okay, okay, I got it. Listen, I'm glad for you but I don't see what..."

"Matt, we've got to save her !"

"Excuse me ?"

"We know who kidnapped her, now we've got to save her before it's too late."

He gives me a weird look and says:

"No way. That's the police's job, not ours. Call the cops and tell them what you know, they'll handle it by themselves."

"Matt, you've never seen any gangster movies or what ? It's the Number One Rule, they kill the hostage if we call the cops ! But if we act alone, they won't expect..."

"No !"

He shouts so harshly I shut up immediately and begin to blush in shame. I feel like I've hit a very sensitive spot.

"It doesn't matter, what you think," he says, more softly. "What you propose to do has a name. Doing justice yourself. It's called vigilantism. And I cannot do that, I don't want another girl to get killed."

I raise an eyebrow: "What do you mean, another girl ?"

He sighs. "I... I know what I'm talking about. I did vigilantism a while back, in New York. Yeah, I did. I got the guy I wanted to get, but... it cost the life of an innocent girl. That's when I understood the inherent wrong there is in wanting to take the law in your own hands. I study laws to punish criminal in a civilized manner, using a fair and balanced judicial system created by society. It's maybe flawed, but there will always be more justice in it than in the first gun-toting redneck who thinks he can do his own justice, no matter the cost of it. I refuse to do that."

"Matt... I'm sorry, I so didn't know that... but... then what about the dojo ? And the turd bomb ?"

"You can't compare these things."

"You said you did all that because you thought it was fair ! That is a form of vigilantism !"

"No, because even if there were a few ribs and a few noses broken in the process, no human life was at stake. Here, anything we do will endanger the life of an innocent person: Penny."

"She's even more in danger if we don't do anything ! Listen, Matt: what you did for me, the dojo, the bomb, you did all of it because you thought there was no other way to help me. That's exactly the same for her ! We can't count on your system to save her, because these guys out there are a real mob that don't give a crap about the law, and even if they get arrested, they will have killed her before. That's why we can't count on the cops ! There's only the two of us who know about the situation. We're the only ones who can try to save her. And if you don't wanna try because of your principles, then I'll go there myself, no matter what it takes. I've let these guys scare me for way too long, anyway. I wanna fight them. Good night, Matt, maybe I'll never see you again."

Quite a theatrical performance. I should be an actress. But my audience doesn't seem so impressed, because his only reaction is to sigh. Fine. I begin to walk away, stomping very loudly on the carpet like when I threw a tantrum, but he still won't move. I'm getting closer to the door. No, he won't let me go there alone ? Or will he ?

"Violet ?"

I turn round, my heart beats so fast I'm sure he can hear me.

"Don't be silly," he says. "Of course I'll come with you. There's only one condition: we investigate and find out where she's being held, but we don't act, we don't interfere. We just collect infos and give them to the cops, right ?"

"Sure." I'd be ready to accept anything at this point.

"Then go home and have a good dinner," he says. "Come back here in an hour, with your dark suit and mask. And most of all, don't forget to say your prayers."

----------

Penny tried to open her eyes, only to find out that she couldn't: she was blindfolded. What was going on ? She tried to move, to stand up from that chair she was sitting on, but there were so many ropes tied up tight that she couldn't move a muscles. She was bound to the chair like a fish in a net. Kidnapped ? Oh, God, why her ? What did they want from her ? She didn't know where she was nor how she arrived there. She only remembered the yellow eyes into the car, and how the woman had knocked her senseless for no reason. Now it was all darkness, but she was not alone, she could hear a few people talking, very close to her, chatting in a foreign language she couldn't identify, save for the fact it sounded very much like the language spoken by the redhead woman. Judging by the echoes of their voices, the place was indoors, closed, and very large, quite like a cave. It was also cold like a cave. But, there were no caves in Atlanta ? Listening with more attention, she recognized faint sounds from the streets, cars, sirens, things like that, but these were hard to distinguish. Then it had to be a warehouse. But why, and what would these people do to her ? She startled and froze when she heard quite loud footsteps drawing closer to her, accompanied with a male voice, this one talking in English, and apparently in a phone conversation:

"No, don't tell the cops anything about this conversation, don't let them know we're involved. I dunno, just tell them she's probably got kidnapped by some random pervert and you're very worried about her, invent something, it's your problem. Just don't try to mess with us, or the only thing you'll get from your daughter is her fingers in your mailbox. Got it ? Good. You already know what we want, it's pretty obvious. Here is how things are gonna go from now on: you are very worried about your daughter. You have no idea who abducted her, but you trust the police to check on the sex offenders registry to find her and bring her back safe. Meanwhile, you try to change your mind, you still have a job and you have to do it. So tonight, you take a Valium and a glass of whisky, and you go to bed. Tomorrow, you drink a large cup of coffee, comb your hair, put on your best suit, and go to attend the trial of our comrades Sultan and Jamila Nassiliev. There, surprise ! You find they're innocent ! I don't know, mistake in the procedure, lack of evidence, I'm sure you'll find something, it's your job after all. You should call the anti-racist leagues, they're very good at this. Anyway, our two friends are found innocent, and walk free from the courthouse at noon. At five in the evening, another big surprise ! Miss Penny is found safe and sound, sleeping on the sidewalk near her school. She doesn't remember anything, but she's not harmed and goes back to her daddy and they all live happily ever after. Nice story, isn't it ? I quite like fairytales that end well. Just remember: don't try to double-cross us, or else... fingers... mailbox. Call you back in an hour."

There was a beep when the phone was hung up, but Penny didn't even pay attention, her mind was still ringing with the incredible things she just heard. Cutting her fingers ! That's a thing she had seen so much in mafia movies, but she never imagined some people would really do that ! So these guys were really of the mafia, and they had kidnapped her to pressure on her dad ! Penny was usually not a very clever girl, but this time she was quick to realize what was really going on, and her heart beat with anguish and the rag before her eyes got wet with cold sweat, for she had seen enough movies to know how it would end, and she knew she would never see her parents again. Overcoming her dread, she opened a trembling mouth and dared murmur:

"You... you're not gonna hurt me, are you ?"

"Sure not," the man she couldn't see answered, "but as long as your father believes it, he's more motivated for his little mission."

"So you're gonna let me go ?"

"Yep, as soon as we get our friends back."

"But, why me ? I'm innocent, I don't even know your friends !"

"Your father the attorney is holding two of ours prisoners, I thought it was only fair if I held one of his in return."

"But your friends are prisoners because they're criminals ! That is only fair, that's justice !"

The man, who she guessed was their leader, only laughed at this and replied:

"My poor little, innocent child... you're an American, that's obvious. Raised in the purest tradition of kapitalist propaganda, to believe without question that your society is the best of the world and all is fairness and justice. You look around and all you see is happy, honest, hard-working citizens that make the pride of your country, and when you see, in the news, acts of violence, you just shrug and tell yourself these are just a few misguided people who will never reach you anyway, because you're safe within the womb of your community. You believe it so much indeed, that you are totally helpless when misfortune, one day, comes to reach you without warning, just like tonight. Don't you feel pathetic, now ?"

He paused for a few seconds during which the terrified girl dared say nothing, then he went on:

"In our homeland, we have a word of wisdom: _Ot trudov pravednykh ne nazhivesh palat kamennikh_. A honest job doesn't bring a solid house. I and my men have taken this as a personal motto. We don't give a damn about honesty, justice, or any of your so-called virtues. We are _Zmeya Armiya _! Raised for the fight, for it and nothing else, we know of no love, no morality, no compassion or no mercy to our enemies. While you were playing jumprope in the schoolyard or watching your Saturday cartoons sucking a lollipop, we were training to kill a man with our bare hands. We abide only by the values and codes that were transmitted to us by our wise fathers, and we live and fight only to perpetrate them and achieve the very destruction of that corrupted society you cherish so blindly, even if it means death for us all, we don't care, we are ready for it ! Nechayev said it: we are doomed men by our very nature. You cannot change us, you cannot fight us. So don't you dare come and tell me about your justice. Your justice has messed with us, we strike back, and in the end, we are gonna win. Hear my words. Now, if you please, I got a phone call to give."

She didn't have the time to reply, and even if she did, she wouldn't have said anything. He walked away. And she began to pray for someone to come and save her from those heartless maniacs. Anyone, even folks she hated like Violet Beauregard or Terry Phillips, she just wished someone would come and save her from this nightmare !

----------

"This is here !" I say through my mask as we finally arrive on the roof of a building right in front of the diner where I had my lousy date with Brownie. "That's where I saw her last."

I look at Matt's also masked face and I see him take a few long smells around, to finally say he found nothing. I sigh and look down at the street: to the West, where we came from, there's the school and a few shops and cafés, there's quite a small activity. But to the East, after the diner that still has a few customers at this hour, it's all a street of old-looking appartment buildings, pretty dark and quiet at night. That's where Penny was walking to the last time I saw her, and I get to think this desert-looking street is the perfect place for an ambush.

"We should try this way," I say, "to the East. I think it's where they've kidnapped her... somewhere close by."

We climb down to the street level, careful not to be seen by the diner's customers and not to slip and fall. Now that winter's ending, the snow has melted down and, added with a few heavy rainfalls these last days, made every sidewalk, every rooftop, phone pole or billboard, slippery and wet, and it's quite a challenge at the beginning. At least, the air's a little warmer and you don't risk no more to chill all over as soon as you poke your head out of doors. We walk normally down the lonely street, opening our eyes - I mean, _my_eyes and _his_ nose - to the faintest clue that could tell us where they've taken Penny. Then suddenly, I notice something abandonned in the middle of a puddle, and I kneel down to take it. It's a cell phone. Doesn't look broken. It's already turned on and the battery's almost full, meaning it's been left here not so long ago. I quickly scroll through the contact list: _Mom, Dad, Driver, Amy, Anne..._ no doubt this is Penny's phone. So it happened here !

"The Mercedes again," Matt says, and I turn to him to see he's been studying tyre prints on the road. "Headed straight ahead..."

"Where exactly ?"

"I dunno, I'm not a psychic."

At this moment comes a female voice, addressing us directly:

"You're here for the girl, I suppose... and what are you exactly, Batman and Robin ?"

I turn round to face the stranger, and I am much surprised to discover a girl of about my age, dark-haired and clad in a schoolgirl uniform. Cute, you would say... but I don't know why, this girl creeps me out. There is just... something wrong with her. First her voice, an unpleasant, cruel voice, sneering with sadistic glee. And her eyes, she must be wearing contacts but still... such unreal, doll-like green eyes that feel so wrong on a living person ! They're so green I can see them in the dark ! And finally, the weirdest, she's standing in the middle of the road, dancing softly, dreamily, playing with a strange toy composed of a heavy iron ball at the end of a very long chain. It's not a toy, it's more like one of these weapons from kung-fu flicks, the ball that can crack your head in three in a single shot, and the girl is playing with this dangerous thing like a jumprope, swinging it fearlessly over her shoulders and between her knee-socked legs in slow gracious moves. I look at her, and I immediately know this girl is insane.

"What do you know about Penny ?" Matt asks. I want to whisper to him not to pay attention to that cuckoo chick, but I don't want her to hear. If she gets angry with that thing in her hands, things can go pretty gory.

"That's the girl who was there," she answers with an eerily confident voice. "The girl who lost her phone. Yes, I was here. Saw everything. Was quite a show, but a little too short for me."

"What happened ?" he asks. I'm not even interested in that. To me, it's obvious she's talking bullshit.

"There was a redhead chick in a black car," she says with that same monotonous voice. "Pretended she had a breakdown. That's a classic. Not very original, but always effective. They talked a little, and when the red chick had the girl's trust... kicked her inside the car."

"That's all ?"

"That's all."

"But... you saw what type of car it was or something ?"

"Sure I did. I saw everything."

"And you didn't call the cops ?"

"Wanted to... but Evil Me wanted not. Must always listen to Evil Me."

No way ! This time it's way too much for me and I can't hold back a hiss of disdain.

"All bullshit !" I declare. "Evil Me ? What next, you're Dr Jekyll and Miss Whore ?"

She throws me a glance that could freeze Hell still, her doll eyes penetrate straight through my eyes and into my soul to spoil it with fear and confusion. I immediately regret what I said, but I try to act tough. If I am to play the vigilante tonight, I must at least act tough.

"I don't know who you are, masked girl," she tells me, "but don't make me angry, or I drink your blood."

"What ?"

"Nevermind. It's alright, little girl, it's alright. Just don't forget to look under your bed at night..."

She gives me the spooks ! Usually, when someone speaks to me like that, I make sure they have my sole printed on their forehead, but here, my God, there is no way I come too close to that freak !

"What is your name ?" Matt asks. There is no doubt, Matt is the most psychologist of the two of us. He never gets nervous and always find the right things to say.

"Rose will be just fine," the freak replies.

"Alright, Rose, listen to me: this girl, Penny, was a friend of us. And we have reasons to believe she has been kidnapped by the mafia."

"So you mean the Kazakhs ?"

"Yes ! What do you know about them ?"

"I might tell you where to find them. Yes, I might."

"So ?"

"But I have no reason to tell you... or have I ?"

"What if Good You decided to tell us ?"

She lets out a shrill laugh that makes my spine tingle. "Good answer ! Very amusing... alright then... if I had to kidnap someone, which I already have, there is one place I would use: go to the far East of East Atlanta, in the factory parts, Paper Street. You'll get to it by following State Route 20, but it's far from here. Once there, look for Hangar 18."

"A hangar ? Wait, how do you know it's this one ?"

"Used to dwell there. An abandoned hangar. That's where I hid the bodies of my... forget it. Just, I had to leave the place a while ago, when some crazy gunmen came round and began to use it to store their stuff. I'm quite sure it was them, it's the language, you know. It's the best place I can think of to hide a hostage."

Matt then addresses me: "You know where it is ?"

"Yes, I think I can find the place."

"Then we'd better get going. Thank you, Rose."

"My pleasure."

Back on the rooftops. Quite a relief. I couldn't stand that girl any longer.

"Matt, you're really gonna listen to her ? She's nuts, that's obvious !"

"Perhaps, but we have no other lead. Besides, it's according to what we already know about them. They're in East Atlanta. Let's hurry."

----------

It takes us about an hour to get to the neighborhood, and another twenty minutes to find Paper Street, and when we arrive in the dirty street of abandoned factories and dark, sinister-looking warehouses, I'm exhausted. Standing on the roof of a factory, leaning against a chimney, I look around, panting. And I see it. A hangar, with the number 18 printed in big characters on the front gate. Right in front of us, on the opposite side of the street. From here, it looks so empty and dark I dread the crazy girl told us lies. But then, Matt speaks:

"Mark Knopfler ?"

"What ?"

"I hear some music... Mark Knopfler... coming from this way."

"It's the hangar ! But it looks empty."

"No, it's not. People inside, I can hear them. About a dozen. I can hear crates... metal... I think they're loading trucks."

"Hey, wait a second !"

I look more closely at the front gate, and I see two shadowy figures I recognize as men, two men in long coats. I look more closely, and when a small wind makes the tail of a coat fly, I can see the silvery gleam of a revolver.

"Uh-oh... there are two armed guys at the gate !"

"Yes, and one more on the roof. I can hear his heartbeats."

I look up, and I see this third guy, patrolling on a narrow bridge around the top of the hangar. Quite a good surveillance.

"We need to go inside and see what's going on," Matt says. "You're sure you still want to do it ?"

"Sure, but how do we pass the guards and get in there ?"

"You stay here, and don't follow me until I told you."

What ? My God, he's taking himself for James Bond or what ? He points his cane at the bridge and, when the guard has moved far enough, he launches the grapnel that grips fast and solid on the balustrade. I just have time to wish him a worried good luck before he rewinds the grapnel, that propels him so fast in the air he almost flies, until he finally lands on the bridge without a sound. Waw. A real ninja ! I see him sneak behind the guard. My legs start to quiver. He's not gonna... yes, he does ! He jumps on the man who has no time to make a sound before he begins to choke him with his cane ! A very short struggle ensues, and the guard collapses like a rag doll. Unbelievable ! All of this in a few seconds and in perfect silence ! I'm still in shock when launches the grapnel at me and helps me rejoin him, and I now stand before the unconscious body.

"Is he..." I begin, hesitant.

"Dead ? Na, just brought him to sleep."

"How did you do that ?"

He gives me a mysterious smile. "You learn a lot from action movies."

We move, follow the bridge until we find a door, and sneak inside. It's looking good, so far ! The inside is dimly lit but I can now hear the music, so there are people in there. I'm tensed and each step is an intense effort. These guys used to creep me out outside, and now I'm into their lair ! The second floor only consists in a steel platform loaded with rusty barrels and other abandoned stuff, overhanging the main room. I can't see much from where I am, so I begin to move on to have a better view, and suddenly I freeze, a rush of adrenaline creeping up my spine to my head and making my eyes almost pop out of their sockets: there's another guard right in front ! Gladly he's looking away and has not seen us, but still, he's standing hardly a dozen meters from us !

"Matt !" I whisper.

"Yes," he replies, "I felt him too. Where is he looking ?"

"To the left."

He pauses, raising his head like a prairie dog, and I realize he's "looking" around. The music must be helping him sense his surroundings or something.

"This way," he murmurs, and we creep to the right edge of the platform from where we leap to a catwalk and climb up to another catwalk, the one that supports the lighting, so that we can move in the shadow, unseen by the men.

"We can say anything about the Americans," a voice declares, below, "they still have darn good music !"

I recognize this voice: the leather-clad freak. Snake. We stop where we can have a clear view on what is going on.

"Tell me what you see," Matt asks.

"It's pretty large below... full of stuff. Crates, drums... I think it was used to store cars or something, cause there are old wheels and pieces of engine. There are three white vans parked here, all look-alike. And people are packing crates in one of them. Only one, that's odd..."

"The two empty vans must be used for a decoy, just in case. I bet the stuff in the crate is not all so licit."

"Drugs ?"

"Maybe. Or weapons. How many are they ?"

"About a dozen."

"You see Penny ?"

I look and see her, she's almost right under our place. Tied up like a sausage in a butchery, and blindfolded, but she doesn't seem to be hurt or anything.

"She's there, she looks okay. The Snake guy is there too. That's weird, he's dancing around her..."

"Okay, so it's definitely the place. We know enough, let's get out."

Fortunately, we're quick to find a rooftop window and we don't have to do all the way back. Once outside, I don't stop. I don't even ask where we're going, I don't even wait for Matt, I run away, I just run, in a state of anguish, I want to be as far from these freaks as possible. When I think I'm at a good enough distance (meaning, when I'm so tired I have to sit down and breathe), I stop and suddenly feel horribly sad for Penny. Even though I hate this girl, she's my classmate and I can't leave her at the mercy of these men ! Matt finally arrives, breathless too.

"You should have waited for me !"

"Sorry. I... I was afraid."

"Nevermind. It's time we call the cops, now. You got a phone ?"

"What ?" I'm taken unawares by his question, and suddenly I realize I haven't thought of bringing my phone along. Shit ! I tell him, and I think I can guess a frown behind his mask.

"What about Penny's phone ?"

"Sorry, I... I turned it off. A reflex, I wasn't thinking. And I don't have the code."

Another frown. I guess I'm not as good a vigilante as my heroes, the Shadowgheist or the Wolf. I look around, and suddenly...

"This way !" I point out to a small general store in the street, with light coming from it - thus making it the only place that looks alive in this unpretty suburb - and the light reveals a phone booth just in front of it. We hurry down there and I ask Matt for a quarter before I go into the booth. I take off my mask. My fingers tremble and I have a hard time typing 9-1-1.

"Emergency services ?"

"I know where's Penny !" I shout straight in the receiver without any sort of introduction.

"Excuse me ?" the cop on the other side of the line asks, surprised.

"Penny ! The daughter of attorney George Senorm ! She got kidnapped this evening, and I know where she's being held !"

There is a horrid blank of a few seconds during which I believe they're taking me for a dirty joker and hang up, but eventually the cop asks me to wait a moment, and then it's another, deeper voice that speaks to me:

"Captain Smith, APD. Who are you ?"

"Sir, it doesn't matter who I am, it's Penny !"

"Yes, I've been told. So what do you know about Penny ?"

"She's been kidnapped by the mafia ! I saw her !"

"The mafia ?"

"Yes, the Kazakhs, you know."

"That's ludicrous. Why would they waste their time kidnapping a little girl ?"

"Because two of their members are gonna be tried. Read it, it's in the news ! So they want them back, and they've kidnapped her to pressure on Mr Senorm !"

Another blank. I'm scared. He won't believe me, that's for sure. But then I hear a worried whisper, a _Shit! _and Captain Smith answers:

"How do you know about that ?"

"I had suspicions... so I went to check. There's about a dozen men, maybe more. They're in Hangar 18 of Paper Street, East Atlanta. It's near State Route 20."

"And who are you ? What is your name ?"

I don't want to tell him, and I don't have the occasion anyway: because as I look up towards the store, I startle, drop the phone, and my heart makes a somersault in my chest when I find myself face to face with the shiny and intimidating tube that happens to be the barrel of a shotgun.

"Get your fucking ass off that booth !" the shotgun guy groans. "I wanna see you in the light, and your friend too !"

Sweating cold, I slowly get off and walk to him with my hands raised over my head, like I've seen doing on TV. The guy must be the shop owner, a rather small, fat, bald middle-aged man with his wrinkled face distorted by a grimace of murderous panic. I imagine this guy has seen his shop robbed before, and he turned paranoid because of that. So of course he was afraid, when he saw two teenagers in dark suits appear in the night in that suburb !

"You !" he shouts at Matt. "Drop your weapon ! And raise your hands !"

Matt obeys and drops his cane. I give him a look and am surprised at how calm he is, as if he had already lived that before. The man lets out a nervous giggle:

"So you thought you could fuck with me ? I know what little tramps like you two are capable of, but I make the rules this time !"

"Sir," Matt begins with his low voice he uses for negotiating, "excuse us, but..."

"You shut the hell up ! Don't you dare imagine that just because you're polite you're gonna... hey, wait a minute !"

He looks at me. He gives me a look that I know just too well, and though I should be used to it, it still feels like a stab in the heart. He just noticed my blue face, my blue hair... and he looks at it, anguished, and disgusted.

"Holy shit !" he lets out. "What are you, a junkie ?"

"Sir, please, listen to me," Matt interrupts again, softly but with authority. "We have no intention to rob you or anything else."

"That's right, and I'm Harrison Ford ! Look at you, boy, you're all dressed up and masked, and your girlfriend's all blue with LSD or I dunno what."

"I don't do drugs !"

"Sir, we came to call the cops for..."

"Oh yes, we're gonna call the cops, young boy. Now, come inside, we'll find a nice place to lock you in, and then we're gonna call the cops."

"What ?" I yell, losing all my remains of self-control, and I lower my arms without noticing it in my anger. "You jackass, you're not listening ! We told you we..."

He aims straight at me, so brutally I really think he's gonna shoot and I shrink in fear.

"I said don't move !" he shouts, growing more nervous by the second. At this very moment, Matt moves... not an important move, just a swift step forward, but more than enough for the panicked shopkeeper who immediately turns his aim at Matt and shoots ! I can't believe it. The shot, it's like a sledgehammer strike into my mind that is shattered, turned to pieces, and I lose touch with reality. I turn my head to Matt, and this move feels like it's taking hours. My vision begins to blur, and all I can hear are the panicked drumbeats of my heart. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound will come out of it. I already imagine my friend's skull exploding, splattering blood and bone shatters and grilled flesh on the sidewalk. But it's not what I see. I just see him, his feet spread to give him a good balance, his head and upperbody bent sideways so as to dodge the shot. It takes me still a moment to fully understand: he dodged the shot ! What happens next is equally incredible, as in a movement almost too fast to be seen, Matt kicks his cane to lift it from the ground and jumps and spins like Jet Li to kick the cane again, in the air, throwing it whirling like a boomerang to hit the man on the forehead, knocking him senseless !

He retrieves his cane and makes sure he hasn't hurt the man too badly. I don't even realize I'm still standing there with my mouth agap.

"You..." I begin, but he interrupts me to tell me we should go back to the hangar. Only when we're back on the rooftops do I begin to regain my wits and I yell:

"You know kung-fu !"

"Not exactly, Violet. This is ninjitsu."

"But why didn't you tell me you knew ninjitsu ?"

He gives another of his mysterious smiles and just says: "You never asked."

We go back to our observation point on the roof of the factory in front of the hangar, and watch. For a moment, nothing happens. The two guards in front are still there and the one on the bridge didn't wake up yet. So far, everything is eerily normal. I'm tensed. Will the police arrive ? Did they take me seriously ? Then suddenly, the two guards at the front gate collapse without a warning.

"What the !" I exclaim, surprised and confused.

"I heard the hiss of a suppressor," Matt explains. "A police sniper, on the roof of the next hangar. Brought them down with tranquilizer darts."

"The police ? They're here ?"

"Yep, several of them. And a big bunch of them, all around the hangar. Looks like they took you seriously."

I look carefully, but I see nothing. Is Matt having hallucinations, or is he just kidding me ? Then, as I wear out my eyes trying to distinguish something, it comes to my sight. First, that's very faint, I only see shadows moving among the shadows in this poorly lit street. But the shadows move fast, and I eventually perceive human silhouettes, running in silence, running without fear. I can't count exactly, it's too dark for that, but there are many of them. So many running, striding, living shadows, it's almost frightening. Like this movie where a gang surrounds a precinct by night. Then, one or two of the shadows approach the front gate carefully, and come into the light. I see the metallic shine of a gun. No, not a gun, bigger than that. An assault rifle ! Then, other details can be distinguished, I see the figures are clad in dark blue suits with protection helmets and body armors bearing an inscription on the back. The inscription... only four letters that are more than enough to understand the gravity of the situation: SWAT.

Other men come, in the end they're about a dozen at the front gate, plus a bunch of others around. The whole place is surrounded. And then it breaks through the quietness of the night. Just a single, sharp sound, the sound of a broken window, and all Hell breaks loose in a matter of seconds. The dozen cops at the front gate lose all signs of quietness, as if they had just been turned on like machines, they kick it wide open and rush inside. Gunshots ! Several of them, coming from machine guns and shotguns, the sounds of a bloody battle you could find in a John Woo movie ! I'm trying to be as calm as Matt who's sitting there, listening without a move like a statue, but I just can't ignore that icy fist squeezing my heart, that makes all my limbs shake and my teeth chatter, and my, I so want to go to the ladies' room ! Other broken windows, and soon after, a thick, white cloud, probably tear gas, flows out of all the openings in the building and surrounds it with a supernatural mist. That's when I hear a piercing male shriek, a cry of pain from someone who got shot, and my thoughts instantly go back to the one person we're supposed to rescue, now helpless in the middle of that shooting rampage.

"Penny !"

"She's not hurt," Matt reassures me. "She's being taken away..."

"Where ?"

"A minute ! I hear a clank, like a door, the door of a truck."

"One of the white vans ?"

I don't need an answer, for at this very moment, I hear it: a panicked engine roar, a sharp hiss of drifting tyres, a scream, and one of the white vans emerges from the mist like a ghost, drifts again, and drives at its max speed towards State Route 20, immediately chased by two police cars and their screeching sirens.

"It's not this one," he says, "she's still inside."

A few seconds later, another drift, my heart makes a leap as a second van appears and rushes in the opposite direction as the first one. I'm ready to jump.

"Not this one yet ! Shit, their decoy works perfectly !"

Another drift inside the hangar...

"It's this one for sure !" I yell.

"Yes, she's in the last one."

I tense all my muscles like a sprinter at the start of a race - and I'm quite experienced about sprinting. The van emerges from the mist, and immediately drives towards a third direction, deep in the heart of the district. Now !

I turn round and start a sprint. I think Matt calls me, tells me to wait or something, but I don't listen, I have to catch this van before it disappears with its hostage ! I feel like Spider-Man, this is so exciting ! I jump from the factory rooftop to another one and keep running. On my left, below, the van is heading straight ahead but the traffic is slowing it down. That's my chance ! I turn left and dives into the street to land lithely on a traffic light. No time to think of the deadly danger of the stunts I'm performing, right now I'm a super-hero and I have to work ! The van passes below me, and as I've seen it done in many action flicks, I jump on its white roof, but taken unawares by the speed, I trip, lose balance, roll over and fall out !

A reflex ! That's what saved my life, and I have to thank Mom to have forced me into gymnastics lessons. In my fall, my hand reaches out almost by itself, and grab the handle of the back door. The shock flings it wide open and I'm literally sent flying towards the sidewalk, it's all going so fast my feet can't even touch the ground, but I'm still gripped tight on the handle. I think that's the new scariest moment of my life so far, when I see the passersby flashing by, too fast to see their faces, and the wind pulls on my painful shoulders, and right in front of my eyes, now, I see a street lamp heading right into me at full speed !

I must not panick now ! I brace myself, and swing my legs in front just as I'm about to hit the lamp. There is a sharp pain on the soles of my feet when they touch the metal pillar, and I push with all my strength to propel myself back towards the truck, so brutally I'm literally sucked inside. I fall on the floor of the vehicle. Wow ! It all happened so fast ! Hurriedly, I shut the door, and now there's no more wind, no more crazy stunts, no more death danger, I allow my head to rest on the closed door and sigh out all the tension of the past ten seconds - which represents more tension than in the whole twelve years of my life - and I come to this simple, yet thoroughly unbelievable consideration: I am inside ! I have made it ! I have hijacked the truck and I'm now inside it with Penny to rescue her ! Hey ! Wait a minute... inside ? But she surely is not alone inside...

I shriek like a swine in a slaughterhouse when I receive this punch, right between my shoulderblades, a strike as painful as a stab that brings me to my knees. Then it's a hand in a leather fingerless glove, as large as a pan, that grabs me by the throat, and the aggressor pins me against the wall, lifting me off the ground with no effort, and though I struggle to push his hand away, his grip crushes my throat and I can't breathe anymore. Though it's dark in there, I see the man pretty clearly, a towering figure of nearly two meters, in dark green fatigues which sleeves fit tight to his biceps that are as large as my head. I'll have nightmares for a while about his face, a square, massive face with the neck of a buffalo, which aggressive aspect is reinforced by a crew cut, a sharp goatee behind which he's baring his teeth in a hateful grin, and a small but ugly scar deforming his left eyebrow, and oh my God, his eyes ! The fiery eyes of a pyromaniac, a rapist, a killer ! Eyes that can freeze you with a single glance ! I see all of this and more while he's choking me mercilessly, and already my nose begins to itch and my vision to darken, obvious signs that I'm gonna pass out if he doesn't release his grip. There's Penny lying on the floor, still blindfolded, tied up and absolutely incapable of any move. Poor girl, she must be wondering what's going on ! And there's the driver, the driver say something to the giant choking me, I don't understand anything but I recognize what sounds like a name: Vassily. That must be his name. Vassily. I can't explain how, as I was giving up the fight, the sudden knowledge of his name pumped me up like this, but I suddenly came to us a girl's oldest weapon: a kick in the balls.

The man lets out a growl, and I break free as soon as I feel his grip loosening, but when I move away from his arms, I hear a loud rip, and I turn back to him and feel my hair flow freely around my head. Vassily is holding a torn, black rag in his hand, and I understand it's my mask he has ripped off and I'm now standing bare-head before him. He lets out a curse in his language and murmurs, slightly worried at the sight of my face:

"What kind of thing are you ?"

I don't know why I smile at him the way I do, so boldly, so foolishly, but it's something that just comes out naturally. Same as when I declare out loud:

"Consider me like her guardian angel. A blue angel."

And I stand on guard. Even though I know I have one chance out of one to lose this fight - and I'm being optimistic ! - I stand on guard and pray that I remember all my karate and that that kick in the balls has slowed him down. Otherwise, I'm smoked.

----------

"_Taboire_ !" Red Devil shouted in surprise as he braked like mad and stopped in the middle of the street. Immediately after, a series of angry honks came from behind, hurry drivers who were mad at the young motorbike rider in his red leather suit, but the Canadian didn't mind. I mean, what the Hell ! He had planned a good night at a night-club in East Atlanta, and on the way there, what did he see, a white van driving like crazy, followed by a police car with all its sirens out ! There was a chase ! Oh, it was much more exciting than a night at a club. That was decided, the young man told himself, he had to follow it and see what it was all about !

Without wasting anymore time, Terrance Phillips, a.k.a. Red Devil, the Terror of Montreal, passed the first gear, made the engine of his Kawazaki roar, and rushed at the tail of the crazy truck. He was going much too fast, he knew that. He was riding between cars and would even take the wrong side of the road so as not to get stuck in a jam, he knew that too, he was breaking the law pretty bad. But to Hell with the law ! It's not as if he was driving that truck ! And still, the idea was thrilling him. What if he stopped that truck ? Perhaps he could be honored by the police, get a medal or something ? What if it was a kidnapping or something like that, and he came deus ex machina to save the day ? He would appear in the news !

He was almost at the level of the police cruiser, partly daydreaming, which didn't interfere at all with his insane riding, when something, or should he say someone, surprised him by unexpectedly jumping on his bike, on the passenger's seat, and wrapping his arms around him ! There was a shocked, the bike shaked dangerously, but Devil kept control and they continued on their way.

"_Criss de ciboire de sacre d'ostensoir _!" the Canadian shouted without stopping. "Get out of my bike !"

"Keep ...ding. Two... irls to... scue !"

"What ?"

The roar of the engine and the speed made all form of normal speech inaudible, and the mystery passenger had to scream to be heard:

"I said: KEEP RIDING ! I got two pretty girls to rescue !"

"What the _sacre_ are you talking about, man ?"

"If you wanna be a hero, don't ask and go for that truck !"

Terry didn't quite get what was going on, but he actually couldn't care less, the exciting perspectives of this night were enough to convince him to obey and speed up. What wouldn't he do for a good shot of adrenaline ! The rider and his passenger passed the police car and Terry had just the time to see the cop was throwing them a weird look before he disappeared from his sight. 130mph ! He didn't even know his bike could go so fast, but he had never used it for a case of emergency like this night. At this speed, a single error meant death ! His body tensed, making one with the machine, his mind entirely into the ride, Red Devil was now right behind the van, and his passenger reached out his arm in a black tracksuit and glove to point his thumb to the left, indicating the way he wanted to go. Devil obeyed. He was beginning to ride parallel to the van as if he were trying to pass by when there was a shot, and a hiss. At first it surprised him, he thought someone was shooting at him, but no, it came from his passenger, and it was not a bullet, it was a rope, a grapnel ! A steel rope that flew faster than the bike to reach the driver's door of the truck and grip to it. Then, two taps on his back, which in bikers' language meant thanks, and the mystery passenger jumped off the bike at full speed and practically flew towards the van following the rope. What the ! Terry just had time to perceive a black tracksuit, a black mask and a red cane before he came to realize he was on the wrong side and a car was heading straight into him. He dodged it closely and a few anguishing seconds ensued that seemed to last hours and during which the rider lost control and found himself doing zig-zags in the middle of the street, braking like an epileptic F-16 pilot, until he finally stopped, harmless, on the sidewalk. He tried to get out, putting a trembling foot on the pavement, but his legs were too weak to support him and he fell on his butt. It took him a while to get enough control on his fingers to remove his helmet, and his head was soaked with cold sweat. One of the passersby gathered here, a girl in school uniform, offered him a cigarette. He took it with pleasure. That was exactly what he needed after such a race. And who the fuck was this grapnel-guy ?

----------

Dear Diary, I'm smoked. Okay, it's maybe not the proper time for humor, but I couldn't help. Because I'm lying down there, on the floor of the van, and my nose is bleeding. That Russian pig beat me down and it didn't take him too long, far from that ! He just sent me kiss the dust without giving a single chance to reply, and I know he's not done yet: the giant with his gorilla strength now picks me up again and binds my arms together behind my back in some kind of wrestling hold, I think he has handcuffs and he's gonna tie me up now, so that they'll have two hostages instead of one ! Oh, great, couldn't dream of a better end for this mission ! But he squeezes a little too hard, and I hear the horrible pop of my shoulder bones, broken neatly... and I don't feel any pain. That's when I suddenly remember who I am, I am Violet Beauregard, and I can do things normal people can't. Quickly I close my eyes, and try to imagine my limbs are rubber bands, and all of a sudden I feel I slide and evade from Vassily's grip to stand back up in front of him. He looks so confused it's almost pitiable.

"Ah-ah !" I let out victoriously. "Weren't expecting this one, were ya ?"

His confused look turns to an evil beastly grin again. Oh, shit...

_No, _a voice shouts in my head, and that voice is actually my own, _don't let him beat you ! Think of rubber ! Think of the Factory ! Remember ?_

Oh ! Yes, I do. Of course ! When the Oompa Loompas took me out of the press after I've been juiced. When the pain was passed. I remember. I had felt so good ! The cartwheels, the somersaults, all of those gymnastics moves that used to need an effort, they had all come out so naturally as I had begun to explore my new flexibility, the possibilities had seemed limitless at this moment ! That's the way I have to think now !

Vassily charges me, his fist ready to smash my face like a rotten blueberry. Calm. Focus. Think of the Factory. The press. The cartwheels. Yes, I think of the cartwheels. And when his fist comes to me, I do a cartwheel and evades from his attack with no effort. He gives me another confused look. I got it. I just have to think of myself as light as a feather in the wind, for that's how I am. That is how I could do rooftop-running so well without an intensive work-out like Matt. I am light, flexible, and strong. More vexed than ever, Vassily tries a long-range attack, a large kick, but his boot hits the wall and misses me, and I kick him in the balls again. It doesn't even slow him down ! He throws me an angry punch, I do another cartwheel to dodge, he immediately continues with another kick, but he hits the wall again and I kick him in the balls a third time ! I understand now he's a very tall man and that's his weak point: he doesn't have enough space in the truck to give a proper fight ! I have a tactical advantage on this one, and I do intend to use it at best.

He attacks ! Quick ! Dodge, cartwheel, kick in the balls, kick in the legs and make him fall ! Woah, and there's a rhyme ! I'm getting really good at this ! Why, Jesus why didn't I try to fight like that against Red Devil ? Oh, just because here it's inside a truck. In an open space, that Vassily guy would probably have killed me. Then better enjoy it while it lasts ! I make him fall, and make him fall again, I'm just too fast for him, he's like an elephant trying to catch a mouse, and I even surprise myself giggling like a little girl playing tags as I bounce against a wall to the back door to another wall to land on his chest with a strong flying kick that throws him on his butt ! I can't believe I'm actually winning this fight !

At this moment, the truck shakes strongly enough to make me look balance, and I look at the driver to see he has just changed, and instead of the Kazakh gangster at the wheel, there's now...

"Matt ?"

"Hold on !" he says. "We're almost done, keep it up !"

"Stop this, Matt ! You..." can't drive, you're blind. That's what I want to say, but before I can finish my phrase, Vassily has stood up again and grabs me by the collar and smashes me with all his strength - and there's a lot - against the back door. The shock is so violent it flings it open again, and I'm lying there, my head's hurt by the shock, I'm on the edge of K.O. and in the same time on the edge of the door open to the street, with the wind messing in my hair as if to remind me that only one move can throw me out of the truck speeding at over 100mph, on a road with high traffic where I'll get run over almost as soon as I hit the asphalt. And the Russian - or Kazakh, but who the fuck cares anyway ? - is coming to make that move, to push me outside. Remember how good it was going for me less than a minute ago ? And now, I'm in distress and have no other choice but to scream for help like the little girl I am.

"Matt !"

"Stay down !" my friend immediately replies, and as I curl up in a foetal position, I see him run to Vassily from behind, and he jumps to grip to the edge of the door and he dropkicks the Russian out of the van, doing in a single move what I've almost killed myself trying to do ! Then, so naturally it's almost shocking, acting as if nothing happened, he kneels down in front of me and gingerly lifts up my head.

"You're okay ?"

"Yes. Yes, I am... and I..." I feel so warm, so relieved, like a young child waking up from a nightmare, but I don't say anything of this because a fact we had forgotten during this tedious and confused fight comes to my mind like a lightbulb being lit in my brain: "Matt, nobody's driving the truck now !"

"Oh, shit !"

My blind friend stands up and hurries back to the wheel, though he won't really be able to do anything with his blindless. I decide to go for Penny, I wrap my arms around the helpless girl who's been whining and crying all along, I hug her tight, and brace myself, anticipating a rather brutal stop. And I'm not disappointed, for a few seconds later, the van begins to shake all around me, more and more, until it effectively falls on its side, bringing Penny and me into a crazy whirling rollercoaster ride of broken glass, impacts against the walls, screeching metal, an intolerable merry-go-round of nausea, pain and noise, until, finally, the deliverance: I pass out.

I'm still hugging Penny when I feel hands grab me by my shoulders and pull me. I feel tiny pieces of shattered glass pierce through my tracksuit and scratch my back and legs. The sensation is terribly unpleasant, but I still don't dare open my eyes. Then, I feel fresh air on my face, and I decide to look: it's Matt.

"How do you feel ?"

"Like I just woke up from a car accident," I moan tiredly. "Wait, it's actually the case..."

I regain my wits and do a quick check-up on Penny who's still unconscious. That's unbelievable she doesn't even have a scratch !

"You'd better check yourself up first," he says. "Your nose is bleeding, along with your forehead and your wrists."

Oh, my ! I look at my wrists. Okay, that's nothing, just the shattered glass, it's not that important. My nose, it's Vassily who did that, and I guess it's gonna hurt when I laugh for the next few days. But when my fingers touches the wound on my forehead, a sharp pain makes me withdraw with a hiss, and my fingers are dripping with dark blood. Uh-oh, this one's an important wound...

"Here, put this on."

Matt hands me Penny's blindfold he just removed and I wrap it around my forehead like Rambo's bandana. I feel better now. But then, I see the van, lying on its side, with all its windows broken, and I can't really explain what it triggered in my mind, but my legs begin to quiver and I feel cold and very sick, all of a sudden. I think the sight of this truck brought me to abruptly realize everything I have done this night, all the crazy, all the bat fuck insane things I've done this night ! I've been threatened by a shotgun-toting paranoid, I've jumped on a truck at high speed, I almost ended up roadkilled, I've fought a monstrous mafia muscle-man, all in all I just realize now that I've been the most hot-headed, irresponsible, suicidal person in the world tonight, and all that to rescue a girl I don't even like ! I fall on my knees. I don't feel good. Around us, a few passersby look at us from a distance, worried, and I hear a police siren coming closer, but I don't pay attention. All of this... all I've done... all the risks... the danger... all of this rushes at me, assaults me, takes the form of a thick acid ball into my stomach. I have a hiccup. And another, stronger. And finally, I vomit.

Matt puts a hand on my shoulder, gingerly.

"It's okay," I say, "it's okay, we're cool..." I stand up, I feel relieved but so weak ! "Just promise me we'll never do that again !"

"That was your idea," he answers softly.

"Then it was a bad idea... but I think it was worth."

I smile as much as I'm capable of, which is not much, really, and Penny's faint, weak voice makes me startle:

"Oh ! You're beautiful..."

I look: she's staring at me ! Lying tied up on the floor, awakened and without her blindfold, she looks at me and smiles:

"Is that you, my blue guardian angel ? What is your name ?"

No panic, we're cool. Of course, with my blue face, she didn't recognize me. Not in the dark. But if she looks with more attention, perhaps...

"Listen, Penny," I whisper kindly as I kneel down at her level, "I'm your angel, but you're not supposed to see me. So you're gonna sleep now, and you'll not remember anything tomorrow. Okay ?"

"No, wait, how..."

I give her a headbutt. I know it's not kind at all, but what did you want me to do ? It's an emergency situation, I must not let anyone know I have a blue skin, and no-one is supposed to know I was involved in this insane chase ! So I give her a headbutt and knock her senseless.

----------

When the cops arrived on the scene, they found Penny unconscious beside the van, but she was safe and sound. And there was not anyone with her, she was all alone, waiting to be rescued.

I am in my warm bed, comforting myself, though I know perfectly I won't sleep a single minute of the whole night. Not after a night like this. So I stare at the ceiling, replaying the action in my mind, still hardly believing I have made it out alive, and now I'm in my house, in my room, my bed, so warm and safe ! The sensation is weird... I don't want to live such a night again, never ever, but in the same time, I get all excited to a point I want to smile and giggle, when I think back of it.

"Blue angel," I whisper in the night. "That's kinda nice..."


End file.
